


Learning to Live

by Renoku



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Artist!aster, Backstory, Coma, Discussion of Abortion (backstory), Drama, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Illnesses, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Terminal Illnesses, aster is an ass at first, but then they're friends, still hurts like a bitch, student!jack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renoku/pseuds/Renoku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack hasn't touched the ice in years, due to an accident that ended in tragedy.  He's forgotten of his past, trying to move on.  Aster is an artist that hides in his studio, kept by a lack of inspiration.  When Jack is forced to move in with Aster, they find that they might help each other to learn to live again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this came to an idea for me while reading another fic, however, it wasn't really the inspiration for it. For those wondering, the fic was _For the Kids_ by Miki Mechetta, which can be read on ff. Other things that came together include the movie Ice Princess, Silver Linings Playbook, and The Perks of Being a Wallflower, but it really is a completely original fic, which is why I didn't fill out anything under the "parent works" tag. This fic does include mental illness, which I try to portray as accurately as possible. I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies that may occur.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

_Why don’t you tell me what happened?_

“I… I just want to forget about it.”

_We can’t forget about these things, Jack.  We have to move on from them._

“I’m not sure if I can do that.”

_It never hurts to try.  And if it doesn’t work, then we’ll try something else._

“O-okay… Um… Where should I start?”

_Let’s start from the beginning._

“Alright, well–”

* * *

 

Years spent as a child passed by quickly for the impatient.  His father divorced his mother after the birth of his younger sister, but he didn’t mind too much, what with his uncle around to guide him into adulthood.  The family lived better off without the drunken sleaze anyway, who became too lost in the past of his own life to amend the future of his children’s.  And so their life went on, seemingly unaffected by the change in family circumstance.

After the divorce, they moved away to Burgess to live with the mother’s brother-in-law from her late sister’s marriage.  Yes, the two remained close friends, even after the hereditary illness that took her sister’s life.  Both grieved, but learned to live with her memory.

In his new school, in third grade, the boy met a girl with a strange obsession with his baby teeth.  They fell out much earlier than the other children’s, and she bribed him out of his Tooth Fairy money just so she could collect them.  The boy accepted friendship in return, and they remained inseparable.

His sister’s fifth birthday party: being forced to wear the too-small hat only prompted more embarrassing photos, while he preferred to throw snowballs at the cake.  Since then, they’d always gotten an ice cream cake for the occasion.

The next year, he pulled out his own wisdom tooth, sending his best friend into frenzy to collect the blood and gums while he nearly passed out from the pain.  Finally, a disproval of the toaster trick without proper anesthetics added to the records.

In sixth grade, he took up skating, gliding along the ice like a pro.  From the first moment he stuck his blade to the ice, he never wanted to get off.  The dream began, then, to be a racer, a figure skater, and everything else in between.

In seventh grade, he tried asking out his best friend, and they attended the Burgess Middle School Dance together, while all of the eighth-graders laughed at the boy’s ice blue tux.  The day after, they ‘broke up’, refusing to speak to each other for a week.  They cracked under the pressure of boredom and annoying siblings.

Freshman year, he realized he liked boys instead of girls.  He spent hours at his best friend’s house, planning tedious, hesitant ways to tell his mother, scared out of his mind of the possible consequences.  His friend offered him her bedroom floor in case of disownment.  He ended up telling her by accident over the dinner table, but the only ‘punishment’ he received consisted of the requirement to watch every romantic comedy with the family and give his mother fashion advice that she really didn’t need.  She contained enough sense on her own.

As a sophomore, he found life to be filled with useless math equations and unnecessary drama from his teenage acquaintances.  Still single, convinced of his insecurities, like every adolescent high school student, he felt the need to protect his best friend from the boys that acted like his father.  He joined the varsity skating team, and visited the rec center every day.  The proprietor of the building became close to his mother, but only as friends.

Junior year, at the annual family-and-really-close-friends barbeque, is when he decided to take his twelve-year-old sister out onto the ice in his backyard, the lake visible from the porch just beyond the tree line.  His mother stood with his uncle, watching, as they swung arm-in-arm into the woods.

And on that day, his world shattered.

* * *

 

“I – I’m sorry… I don’t think I can… say any more…”

_That’s all right.  You don’t have to tell me everything now._

“What if – What if I’m never ready to talk about it?”

_Then I’ll see you next week, and the week after that._

“I don’t see how this is supposed to help.”

_No one does at first._

“I’m sorry, it’s just…”

_It’s not your fault, Jack._

“…Yeah, I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello, Jack.  How are we today?_

“I’m good.  Better.”

_How was your week?_

“It was fine.  Your brother is still a jerk teacher, though.”

_Ha!  Maybe I’ll talk to him about that._

“It doesn’t matter.  I only took the class because of you.  I don’t know why he’s a professor, though, when he obviously hates the world.”

_He doesn’t; he’s just… secluded._

“Fine, let’s go with that.”

_How is that class going, anyway?_

“Well…”

* * *

 

“Mister Frost!”

The book slammed onto the desk with a bang, jolting Jack out of his little nap.  He sat up rigidly, suddenly remembering his situation, trying to see straight through the pounding headache of perpetual exhaustion that rang through every college student’s mind.  Blinking sleep from his eyes, he looked up into the scowling face of one Mr. Kozmotis Pitchiner.

The late-middle-aged professor drove his lethal gaze into Jack’s with a fury in his yellow eyes.  His spaced teeth sneered, masked by the scent of bad mints made for the elderly.  His black hair slicked back in a failing attempt to be ‘stylish’, only to expose his bulbous forehead to the world.  In Jack’s sleep-deprived head, the man he preferred to term as ‘The Bogeyman’ only became less attractive with delusion.

Jack finally managed to muster up enough strength to wipe the drool from his lip, not really heeding the anger radiating from the man before him.  With a scoff, Pitchiner swept himself away from Jack’s desk, making his way back down the steps of the large lecture hall to his own.  The class looked on in silence, knowing the furious enmity between the professor and his least favored student.

Pitchiner approached his desk, and calmly set down his large lecture book.  He brushed down his tailored suit, regaining his intimidating professional air.  His shot the white-haired boy in the back row another glare from the corner of his eye, waiting for the victim to say something.

Jack remained as annoyingly casual as always, fairly calm for helpless pray being stalked by a merciless hawk.  The young man leaned back in his chair, yawning.  The front legs of the chair lifted slightly, and Pitchiner felt his eye twitch at the blatant disrespect for the property.  Jack’s neck suddenly bent, snapping his eyes blue eyes into wide shock.  He gazed around the room, as if noticing his location for the first time.

When his eyes met Pitchiner’s, he smirked.  “What?” he said; the infuriating first words of battle.

The whole class visibly flinched.  Earlier in the year, a few snickered at the antics, but now they knew better.  Pitchiner’s molten gold eyes probed the room for any other disturbance, before he returned to face his opponent.  His thin fingers, greyed with mild stress, gripped the edge of his desk easily.

“I hope you enjoyed your nap, Mister Frost,” sneered the professor, his accent sick with mock politeness.  “It must be difficult to stand a class such as this, when your immature intellect cannot compete with the pace of the syllabic course of English Literature.”

“No, it’s not that,” sighed Jack, planting his feet firmly on the floor, slouching in his seat.  “Your teaching just sucks.  And using big words doesn’t really do anything.  It just makes you seem like a British prick.”

Pitchiner gritted his teeth.  “Then enlighten me, Jack.”

“What?”

Sighing, the Bogeyman turned to the blackboard.  He preferred the chalk, and requested the oldest lecture hall in the college, just for the purpose of the melodic scrape of the powder on the green slate.  He quickly tapped across the stone, his handwriting flowing in neat swirls of olden styled font, creating a geometrical picture rather than words.  The blocked letters held a sort of elegance, lost on the mentally impudent.  He finished, the subject of the lesson printed as broad as gravelly daylight on the blackboard.

“Please, enlighten me as how to teach my class.  Let’s have an example, shall we?”

Jack’s eyes flicked to the board and his smile grew.  “Okay, here’s one–”

“Stand up.”

“What?”

“I said, stand up!” Pitchiner demanded, his voice breaking off with a sharp bark of breath and snap of teeth.

With a grin plastered across his face, and a mischievous glint in his eye, Jack stood.  His chair scraped the wooden floor, and he slowed his ascent to back the metal-legged seat as far as possible.  Pitchiner’s knuckles turned white in his fists.

“ _White Fang_ by Jack London,” started Jack, his voice steady and bored.  “‘ _But the bane of his life was Lip-lip. Larger, older, and stronger, Lip-lip had selected White Fang for his special object of persecution.’_   And yet, White Fang later killed Lip-lip, signifying the reversal of roles; the tormentor became the victim, and the threatened became the executioner, while living in the time of famine.  And that, Mr. Pitchiner, is irony.”  The young man sat down, crossing his legs and folding his arms in smug confidence.

Pitchiner nodded, tapping the desk thoughtfully.  “I’ll admit, I’m impressed,” he began.  “Or I would be, if Jack London wasn’t American.  Remind me, Mister Frost, what class we are in again?”

Smile lost from his lips, Jack sat forward in his chair, blue eyes glinting hardly in the light of the lecture hall.  “English Literature, _sir_ ,” he stated, drawing out the title in bitter resentment.

“Yes, yes that’s right.  And, pray tell me, what is the topic of today’s discussion?”

Jack nodded at the board.  “Irony, sir.”

“Just irony?”

His pale white eyebrow cocked up on his head, and he frowned.  “…I’m guessing… No?”

“Correct!” exclaimed Pitchiner, and he clapped his hands.  “Looks like you’ve got it!  No, Mister Frost, we are not just studying irony.  We are analyzing the specifics of the elements of dramatic irony.  You, however, have provided an exceedingly useless example of situational irony.  And if you had been _paying attention_ ,” his eyes widened with each word, boring into Jack’s mind, “You would have known that the example I searched for was how a writer might utilize dramatic irony to keep the readers in suspense or even immobilizing frustration.  Despite the sole fact that you gave an indolent plot overview based on a single quote from an introductory statement, you did not keep anyone in this classroom in suspense, unless you regard the predictable outcome of your unsavory incompetence on the account of you having to take a _nap_.”  He slammed his hands down onto the table, and the class jumped in unison.

“However, I do not have any precedence over your other habits,” he breathed heavily through the built tension.  He stood up from his leaning position on the desk, and swept his hand through his greased-back hair.  “C-”

“Wait, I’m getting a grade on this?”

“Of course, for class participation!”

“But that’s not fair!” Jack protested.

“You’re right, it isn’t,” drawled Pitchiner, his tone taking on the condescending, bored tone he usually ruled his kingdom with.  “I’m actually being generous.  Your participation this semester has been _below_ the usual average.”

“What–”

“Don’t make me lower it to an F, Mister Frost!”

A tolling bell rang through the campus.  Three low, melodic dongs sounded from the bronze clock tower in the college courtyard.  As they faded away, Pitchiner turned back to the board and began to erase the marks of his lesson, preparing for the next lecture.

“Class dismissed.”

The students scrambled to gather their scattered papers, the crumpling parchment sounding like nails in Pitchiner’s ears.  Jack stood, tossing his bag over his shoulder.  He nonchalantly made his way down the stairs to the floor, before turning to leave out the door to the old courtyard.

“Mister Frost, I’d like a word.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Jack slid his tote bag from his back, the worn blue fabric hitting the floor with a soft thump.

“And you could take better care of your belongings.”

Jack huffed, “Listen, I just sat through a lecture.  I don’t need another one.”

Pitchiner, finished with his cleaning, hefted a large binder from the side of his desk and opened it.  The neat label placed on the black folder read across it in neat handwriting, _Children’s Literature 101_.  Jack’s eyes missed it, however, glaring at the back of Pitchiner’s slimy head.

“You don’t need another one?  Why don’t you use it as a nap time?”

Jack groaned, and shouldered his back once again, turning towards the door.  “This is a waste of time.  I have somewhere I need to be.”

“And where is that?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

“Watch your tongue in my classroom, Mister Frost!”

“Oh, I’m sorry; is my ‘crude intellect’ too harmful for your delicate ears?”

“Why did you take my class?”

Jack paused, thinking, before he stated, “Your brother recommended it.  He said it would be a nice transitional class for a freshman.  I’m not taking his advice again.”

Pitchiner cracked a smile, still facing the blackboard as he scratched out his lesson plans.  “And yet you have an appointment with him this afternoon, am I correct?”

“…Yes.”

“How are those going?  Any progress on cracking through that icy head of yours?”

“It’s been three years, Kozmotis.”

“Don’t call me that in this classroom.  It’s not high school anymore, Jack, and while I might have been close with your mother, you’re my student now.”

“And you’re still the same slimy bastard that crashed all of the family barbeques,” Jack replied.

“I did not crash them!” came the exasperated exclamation.  Pitchiner looked to Jack, his eyebrows creased.  He set down his binder and approached the young man.  “Jack, Sanderson recommended this class so that you’d have someone you know when you entered college.  But that doesn’t mean you can blatantly disrespect me like you did today.”

“Well someone has to.”

“Jack–”

“I’m not looking for sympathy, Kozmotis!” Jack suddenly shouted, whipping around to face his professor.  His chest heaved, and his fists shook at his sides, clutching his bag like a lifeline.

Pitchiner blinked, shocked as he stared at the boy.  His golden eyes widened, and he recognized the signs his brother mentioned over the dinner table, the signs of Jack’s breakdown approaching.  He balled his fists hesitantly, and stood calmly between Jack and his desk.  “I’m not giving you sympathy.  The semester’s almost over, and I’m telling you to change your attitude before you are sent off to a class that won’t be lenient on you.”

The words struck a chord, and Jack backed away, brought back to the present.  He began to breath harder, and stuttered, “I-I’m sorry; I have to go.”

“Jack!”

But the white-haired man already fled the room, crossing the courtyard swiftly to the street.

Jack approached a bright blue-green buggy with purple blended to the aerodynamic creases of the metal.  The license plate on the front glinted yellow in the sunlight.  A young woman stood next to the passenger door.

Her long flowing black hair fell to her waist, stray curls draping themselves across her shoulders and face, messy as the clothes she wore.  Feathers hung from her ears, complementing her tanned skin with their green and purple hues.  Her purple tank top lay against her body underneath her loose, illustratively colored crop top.  Dark blue skinny jeans completed the ensemble with her colorful shoulder bag.  She looked down at the phone in her hands, tapping away furiously.

Jack felt his own phone buzz in his jacket pocket and smirked.  He walked up next to her, as silently as possible.  He looked over her shoulder at the text on her screen.

“‘Let’s get some pizza because I’m starving,’” Jack read aloud, his cold breath brushing onto the woman’s neck.  “Wow, I was expecting something dirty.  I’m disappointed; you’re texts aren’t very interesting.”

The girl shrieked, leaping away from the car as Jack laughed.  He earring bounced, and her hair flew into her face, thanks to the accompanied wind that blew into her face.

“Jack!  You scared the crap out of me!  Where have you been?  The bell rang ages ago!”

Jack scoffed, “It’s only been a few minutes.  Come on, you wanted pizza?”  He opened the passenger seat and threw his bag before climbing in after it, sliding into the familiar seat in relaxation.  For the moment, the tension from the lecture hall left him, and he settled in for the ride.  He watched Tooth cross around the front of the car.

“You,” Tooth said, throwing open the door, “are an ass.”

“Oh my God, Tooth just cussed.  She’s going to have to brush her teeth now!  Someone get the camera!” Jack laughed, clasping his fingers behind his head.

“Shut up,” she replied, “Seriously, what took you so long?”

“The Bogeyman wanted to speak with me.”

Tooth laughed, starting the car and putting it into drive.  “What did you do this time?”

“I slept during his lecture on dramatic irony.  I was up late last night.”

“Oh yeah?  Doing what?”

“My imaginary boyfriend and his big–”

“Oh my God shut up!” Tooth shrieked.  The car swerved into the lunchtime traffic, but she kept her control.  “What were you really doing?”

“North needed help with some stuff, nothing much.  I couldn’t sleep when I tried, though.”

“Oh…” Tooth said, knowing what he meant.  “So was the lecture bad?”

Jack shook his head.  “Not particularly.  Pitchiner was just being weird today,” he paused, and a smile slowly spread across his face.  “Hey, remember when we always thought that we would have attractive college professors?  Whatever happened to that?”

“Oh, you just haven’t met Night yet…”

“Night?”

“He teaches the psychology class…”

Jack smirked.  “He’s gay.”

“What?  How do you know?”

“My psychological analysis of his pants told me so.”

“I thought you said you hadn’t met him!”  Tooth swerved around a slow-moving car in a rush, politely waving through.  The driver swerved, cut off, and shot the bird at the young woman.  Tooth only smiled.

“I never said that.  I just said I never met anyone attractive.”

“You don’t think he’s attractive?”

“Please.  Anyone that well groomed, even for a gay man, has an inferiority complex, and in his case, it’s accurate.  His nose is weird.”

“It looks just like yours!” Tooth protested, speeding up to tail behind another driver.

“Oh, well then I see why you like him.  But I’m a little offended at the comparison.  God, Tooth, slow down.”

“I’m not even going that fast,” the girl stated as the speedometer passed sixty.

“We’re entering the intersection; slow down.”

“Fine,” she relented, and the car came slightly closer to the speed limit.  “So who do you find attractive?”

Jack thought about it, and then perked up.  “Oh! I know,” he said, diving under his seat for his bag.  He popped back up with his phone in his hand.  He quickly brought a picture onto the screen, and shoved it into Tooth face.

“Jack!  Stop, I’m trying to drive!”

“What do you think of him?”

“…He’s famous, Jack.  And married.”

Jack smirked.  “But I still stalk him on weekends.”

“He lives in LA!”

“The power of the Internet.”

“That’s not stalking.”

“It can be.”

“Whatever,” Tooth said, shaking her head.  She slowly began to smile, “So… you like the big type?”

Jack smirked.  “Definitely, especially if they’re big do–”

“Jack!” exclaimed Tooth. “God, what is it with you today?  You’re almost as bad as your uncle!”

Jack laughed, tossing his phone back down to his bag on the car floor.  “I have an excuse.”

“What?”

“I’m a teenager.”

“You are twenty years old, Jack Frost!” Tooth corrected him, as they turned off of the main street to a more open road.  To Jack’s left, a row of narrow cafés and shops lined the street, close to the curb with a narrow sidewalk framing the very edge of the university quarter of town.  Colorful chalk signs displayed specials of the day, but they whizzed past in a blur of stoned paint.

The bug pulled up to the curb quickly, braking suddenly to prevent collision with a slick corvette.  Tooth smirked, pushing forward just slightly, and bumped the back of it.  To the chorus of blaring car alarms, she continued to park without breaking a sweat.

“We’re here!” she announced cheerily, twisting the key off.  The engine shuddered to a stop, the rumble settling to silence.  Tooth pushed open her door ad leapt out onto the sidewalk.  She studied the cherry red corvette parked before them curiously.  “That car was too perfect for my tastes, right Jack?  Jack?”

She turned to see the young man silently stepping out of the passenger side.  He shouldered his bag, and his blue eyes met Tooth’s.  No emotion flickered within the hard ice, but he slammed the door firmly, stalking around the car to the sidewalk.

“Jack, what’s wrong?”

He only nodded his head across the street.

The open field of Burgess’ park bordered the university quarter on one side, creating the center of the small city.  Across the meadow rose the towering skyscrapers of the developing business district, the chrome struts glinting even from a distance.  Building away from the university lay the low artisan quarters, the older, narrow alleyways contrasting from the wide highways and main streets of the rest of the town.  And then the suburban city sprawl, located distantly from the hand-laborers, spread, going into the more rural area of the next village over.

But the park was always the main center of attraction in the town of Burgess.  A large supermarket dominated one end of the field, closest to the suburbs.  A small, man-made pond, nothing like the lake behind North’s house, centered the field, with small groups of pedestrians exercising their legs in the nice spring breeze.  It hid from Jack’s view, however, behind the towering rec center: three stories of sports arenas and daycare centers, art studios and music chambers, all compacted neatly into a work of grand architectural design, surprisingly owned independently by a wealthy entrepreneur whose grandfather built the space himself many years ago, long before Jack moved to live with North, or even before the Russian came to Burgess.  The young man held no resentment to the place, but to the memories that came with them.

“Oh, Jack, I didn’t realize… We could go somewhere else, if you want…”

“No,” Jack voiced, his jaw set, “Whatever.  Let’s just eat.”

Nodding, Tooth followed him into the pizza parlor, ignoring the angry Italian owner that stormed out waving his finger at the corvette and struggling with his car keys.

The shop smelled strongly of garlic and tomato sauce, the warmth spreading through the entire building.  It relaxed Jack’s mind, and they took a window seat, falling into the wiry metal chairs as Jack gazed out the glass at the rec center across the street.  Tooth ordered for them, getting mushroom and pepperoni, a safe decision.  The food arrived quickly, as usual, the two sitting in silence until Tooth set a plate down in front of Jack.

“Jack, the pizza’s here,” she said hesitantly, pushing the food under his nose.

Jack shook his head, coming out of his reverie.  “What?  Oh, sorry,” he mumbled, taking a large bite.  Tooth shifted awkwardly, knowing not to say anything, when Jack spoke up again, “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That sculpture; I’ve never seen it before.”

Tooth looked outside the window at the rec center.  On the front steps, off to the side, stood a tall sculpture of a standing bunny.  But the clay warped it, twisting into arcs of liquid stone.  A paintbrush in the animal’s hand whipped paint into the air.  Small eggs with little feet pranced around the bunny’s feet, preserved in frozen joy.  A gentle smile plastered the rabbit’s flat face, and a whirl of swirling clay weaved around its body, making the piece abstract in its precision.

“Oh, that?  Manny commissioned a local artist for it for Easter.”

“But Easter was a month ago.”

Yeah, but isn’t it just beautiful?  Manny didn’t want to take it down because he loved it so much.”

Jack scoffed, taking a bite of his pizza.  “I’ve seen better.”

“Oh, come on Jack!”

“…It’s just… different…”

Tooth sighed, looking across the table.  She reached out her hand, and took her best friend’s pale fingers in her own.  She liked the cool touch of his skin, always colder than others, but still warm in their own way.

“You really love that place, don’t you?”  When Jack didn’t say anything, she continued, “It’s been here years, Jack.  You should try again.”

“…Can you drive me to Sandy after we finish?  I have an appointment today.”

Tooth leaned back, her feather earrings swinging with her messy hair as her back hit the chair.  “Sure, I will.”

* * *

 

“And then I came here.”

_You almost had a breakdown today?_

“…Yeah, I think so.  I don’t remember.”

_Is it bad today?_

“It’s been three years.  I don’t think it can get any worse.”

_Exactly three years, Jack_.

“…Can… can I go now?”

_…I’ll see you next week._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got really liberal with Burgess' design and layout. Basically, there are four districts: the artisan district, the business district, the suburb district, and the university/public district. And then there's the central park with the rec center. The lake there is _not Jack's lake_. The university district includes Burgess University, as well as all the stores, the malls, the restaurants, and the theater. The artisan district is like the Bohemian area, where all the artists tend to cluster, with some business officials living there as well, but mostly bachelors and such if not artists. The business district is like the downtown. There's not much that will happen there, although it is where Sandy's office is located.
> 
> Other notes: Pitch is not evil. At least, not coherently evil. His actions are motivated half by care for Jack and his brother, and half for his curiosity about Jack's behavior. He's like a high-functioning sociopath, only not nearly as smart as Sherlock.
> 
> I think that's all I really wanted to discuss with this, so onto the next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North makes a revelation to Jack.

“Sandy, I…”

_What?  What is it?_

“I-I don’t know.  Everything is just happening so fast.  It’s all going downhill.”

_What are you talking about?_

“It’s North!  It happened yesterday!  I don’t want him to go!  Make it stop!  I-I don’t know what’s happening.  It’s all happening so fast!  Why doesn’t it just slow down?”

_Jack!  Calm down!  Breathe.  …There, are you better?_

“…Y-yeah…”

_Good.  Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?_

“It was yesterday…”

* * *

 

The keys scraped against the lock, clunking awkwardly as Jack fumbled to push them into the keyhole.  It slid in the tumblers with a small click, and he twisted.  It stuck, refusing to budge.  He cursed.  Grumbling, he grabbed the small house key in both hands, and jerked it, twisting through the frustration of a difficult lock.  The metal jangled in his hand as the door creaked open.  He slammed it shut behind him, just for the feeling.

He hung his overcoat on the rack as he relaxed into the familiar smell of warm pastries drifting in from the kitchen.  The homely scent mixed with the constant fog of wood shavings and drying paint that draped over the household.  He could sense the colors around him with his eyes closed: the constant red that lined the banisters and walls contrasting to the smooth, dark crème with its rugged texture.  The sound of flames flickered through the house, although no fire burned underneath the mantle.  Invisible smoke drifted up to the brush against the hand-carved rafters holding up the dark wood ceiling.

Jack loved their cabin at the edge of the woods, and knew its every season and content by heart.

So he knew when he felt the change in the atmosphere.  As soon as he smelled the beef cooking from the kitchen down the hall, he knew.  Something waited for him, some news, neither good nor bad, at least not yet.

He dropped his bag next to the stairs, the strap piling atop the worn cloth lightly.  He made his way to the kitchen, noting the firelight casting shadows across the wooden floor.  The popping of sizzling meat reached his ear, accompanied by the symphonic scent of baking dough and vegetables.  He turned into the room.

The large man didn’t notice him at first, so Jack sat down at the low table, observing the figure’s actions.  His gray hair fell down his back, light wisps dusting his bare forearms that worked away at the oven.  He ducked under the hanging pots, making his way to the cabinets filled with wooden plates and bowls, all carved by his large, skilled hands.  They found a large serving bowl and carried it to the counter, the calloused fingers brushing against the grain.  The rolled-up sleeves shifted as he reached into the oven to reveal the black ink of tattoos, aged with the skin throughout the years.  But Jack noticed none of this.  He saw the small details.  He saw the trembling of the usually steady hands, the tense posture of the man’s shoulders.

A pot boiled on the stove.  As the man reached for it, Jack cleared his throat.  The man jumped, his hand knocking against the searing metal.

“Agh!” cried the large man, his voice thickly layered with a Russian accent.  He hissed, clutching his burnt fist.  He shoved it into his mouth to prevent from yelling, and whipped around to face Jack.  “Jack!” he exclaimed, cracking in surprise, “You are home… early…”

Jack rested his hand on his fist, unconcerned by his uncle’s injury.  “Class was let out early.  Something about a cat stuck in the air vents.”

“Why they cancel class?”

“The classrooms were hot as hell.  I’m just glad I didn’t have Kozmotis; he wouldn’t have let us out even if it were the apocalypse and all of the tailors were closing up shop for the end of the world.”

North laughed nervously, shaking of his hand, before turning back to the stove.  “Really?”

“Nah, probably not.  He’d sooner die than let his precious suits burn up.”

“Hmm,” North nodded, lost in his own thoughts.

They remained in silence for a few moments, the sound of boiling water bubbling as North shuffled around with the pot.  He reached into the oven and pulled out a loaf of garlic bread, browned just to perfection, and crisp on the edges.  Jack laid his head down on the table.

“Why are you cooking pelmeni?” he asked curiously.

North responded gruffly, faster than necessary, “What?”

“You only cook pelmeni when something’s happened.  Is it good or bad?”

North remained silent.  He picked up the pot and poured out the water, draining the dumplings of the sink before transferring them to the wooden bowl.  The steam rose from the moist shells, the boiled dough glistening in the homely light of the kitchen.  He carried the pasta to the table, along with the loaf of bread on its flat board.  He returned to the counter briefly to retrieve another bowl of asparagus, setting it down gently.

Jack’s nose wrinkled at the smell of the vegetable, but his mouth watered in anticipation of the meal.  “North?” he asked, trying to divert his attention.

The Russian handed Jack a smaller bowl before shoveling pasta and vegetables into his own dish.  He glanced up, his black eyebrows arching in persistence.  “Eat,” he stated quickly. He reached for the bread knife and sawed off the end of the loaf.  The crust crunched against the blade, the crumbs littering the cutting board.

Jack hesitated before complying.  The food filled his bowl quickly, and he began to eat.  The taste of the pelmeni – the ravioli-like Russian noodles – crowded his mouth with warmth.  He swallowed, though, and laid his fist on the table.

“North,” he demanded.

His uncle looked up, eyes wide with obvious mock surprise.  “What is it?”

“What’s going on?  And don’t change the subject this time!”  Jack leaned on his elbow, before shoving another spoonful of pasta into his mouth.

North released a sigh, leaning back in his chair.  He mopped his mouth with his napkin slowly.

“I am moving back to Russia.”

Asparagus chocked the boy’s windpipe, and he coughed loudly.  Spit flew across the table as he bent over, pounding his chest.  He hacked, the half-chewed pelmeni flying back into his mouth and onto his lap.

“W-what?” gasped Jack, his face beet red and his chest heaving for air.

“I am moving ba–”

“I know what you said!”

“Then why you make me repeat myself?”

Jack wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his blue hoodie, the frayed edges brushing along his lips.

“What are you talking about?”

North responded gruffly, setting his spoon down in its bowl, “Family needs help in Russia.  The toys do not sell well there, with all the snow and such.  Phil called last week.  Said he needed help with the business.”  He paused, before continuing, softer, “They are family, Jack.  I cannot just turn away like rotten food.”

Jack folded his arms.  “Okay, so when are we going?”

“Ah, about that…” North stood up from the table, gathering his empty bowl in hand and carrying it to the sink.  He dumped them down before turning around.  “I am going alone.”

Silence met the Russian’s words.  But suddenly, the quiet erupted into laughter.  Jack leaned back, in his chair, clutching his stomach as spit flew from his mouth.  North almost thought he saw tears pricking at the boy’s eyes, but knew better, bracing himself for the mask of mockery.

Jack calmed down, slapping his hand down on the wooden table.  “That’s a joke,” he gasped out, his tone leaving no room for question.  “Seriously, though, what do I need to pack?  Am I going to be able to finish the semester?  I mean, I’m all for leaving now; I don’t really want another class with Kozmotis anyway.”

“Jack,” North stated, his soft voice rumbling across the small room.  “It is no joke.  You must stay here.”

Jack froze, staring at the table.  His perfectly white nails dug subtly into the table.  Slowly, they curled closed, scratching at the wood.  They left deep gashes, parallel to the many scars that littered the surface of the wood from previous attacks of depression and anger.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his white bangs parting to reveal his icy gaze filled with fear.  “Y-you’re joking.  You really can’t be serious.”

“Jack,” said North, rushing forward.  He knelt next to the chair, holding his nephew’s shoulder.  “Jack, listen to me.”

“Y-You’re leaving… You’re leaving me here…”

“No, Jack, I’m not leaving you!”  Panic began to enter North’s voice.  “I am not leaving you.  You come see me over summer.  I am not leaving for until May!”

“May?” Jack looked up.  Sudden fury entered his eyes and he stood up.  “That’s less than a month!  Tooth is leaving Burgess at the end of the semester for dental school!  She’s going to be gone until fall break!  So I’m going to be living here alone?”

North stood with Jack, and looked down uncomfortably.  “Well… not… here...”

“What?” Jack asked, fuming.

“I am… selling the house…”

The blue eyes widened even further, and he backed away, nudging the chair with his elbow.  He shoved it back with his arm, and it seemed to fall in slow motion.  North’s eyes followed its descent.  As the wood clattered on the ground, Jack exploded.

“No!  No way in hell are you selling this house!  You built this place by hand from the ground up!  I’ve lived here for as long as I can remember!  This is our house!  This is my house!  That’s our – that’s out lake!”

“Jack, calm down,” North pleaded, grabbing for Jack shoulders.

The man shrugged off the touch, backing for the door.  “That’s – That’s our lake… That’s my lake!  I can’t – I can’t go!  Where am I supposed to go?”  Tears began to stream down his cheeks.  “That’s our lake… Mom…”

At the trigger, North shot to Jack, begging, “Jack, please, stop.  Do not think that!  Do not think!  Calm down!  Please!”

Jack only lifted his head, glaring.  “I can’t believe you.”

He stormed from the room, rushing down the hall to the stairs.  He ignored the pained calling from the kitchen, leaving his uncle behind in the cloud of rage he created.  Reason left his mind, and he slammed the door to his room open, crossing to the bed.  He collapsed down, breathing heavily.

He remained there for a long moment, before the first sob bubbled up in his throat.  It retched out like a broken chord, and his whole chest lifted with it, arching his back to the ceiling.  Another came, like a cough, scratching the inside of his body.  Another, and another followed, until the tears freely splattered the light blue sheets beneath him.  They poured out like beads of ice, fragile orbs that cracked into puddles of sorrow.  He tore his grief into the open.

Three years, and it still hurt.  It still hurt, and now he had to leave it all behind.

As he began to calm down, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone.  He pushed the speed dial, and the familiar tone rang in his ears.  Only one ring, and she picked up.

“Jack, is everything okay?” chimed the light-hearted, concerned voice of Tooth.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Jack didn’t know how he knew, but he heard the unnecessary concern.  Jack always called Tooth, but she never spoke with concern.  He noticed these things.

“…Yeah, I did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He heard the audible sigh, and almost threw the phone.  Instead, his fingers clutched it tighter, and his hand began to tremble.  Tooth breathed, “Why do you think?”

“…He wanted to tell me himself.”

“Exactly.  You know how people think Jack.  Be reasonable.”

“How the hell am I supposed to be reasonable?  He’s selling the house!”

“Yes, he is.  But it’s okay.”

Jack rolled over, and spat, “This is anything but okay.  I’m going to have to live in a dorm.  Around… guys…”

Tooth remained silent.  When she spoke, her voice was softer.  “So that’s what this boils down to.  I thought you’d be more upset about the house itself, or the lake.”

“Well, I am, but…”

Tooth laughed.  “You’re not going to have to live in the dorms, don’t worry.”

Jack sat up, suspicious.  “What are you talking about?”

“Remember that artist I was telling you about?  The one that made the sculpture for Manny?”

* * *

 

_So, are you feeling better now?_

“I don’t remember why I acted like that… I said sorry this morning, before I came to see you.”

_Jack, you’re reaction was completely normal.  However, there is the matter of this artist._

“Oh, yeah, Tooth said he’s looking for a flat mate to share the rent.”

_And when are you meeting him?_

“Later this week, I think.”

_You’re going to have to get a job.  You know that, right?_

“…”

_There’s always…_

“I’ll find something.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack meets his soon-to-be flatmate.

_I heard you met someone today._

“Who told you that?”

_Tooth might have dropped in earlier.  She told me you might be mad._

“…And?”

_I can see she was right._

“I’m not mad, I’m just…”

_What?_

“He’s an ass!  He’s a stupid, self-centered, insensitive prick from a prison country!”

_Well, that’s a little rude, isn’t it?_

“Oh, you weren’t there…”

* * *

 

“I don’t want to do this.  I changed my mind.”

Tooth sighed, pulling the car over.  “We’ve been through this, Jack.  There’s no backing out of this anymore.”

Jack slammed his head back on the leather headrest in frustration.  “Can’t you just call him and tell him that I couldn’t make it or something?”

“Nope!” replied Tooth nonchalantly, although her violet eyes shot a serious glare to Jack’s moping form.  “He has a very busy schedule, and he has a shop to run.”

“He’s an artist!  They don’t have schedules!  And besides, if he needs me to pay the rent…”

“He’ll find someone else.  You still don’t have a job, and he’s only considering you because I talked to him!”

Jack remained silent, propping his feet up on the dashboard.  He blew out a puff of air, trying to shift the bangs shielding his eyes.  He gazed out the windshield at the narrow road before him.  A motorcycle roared past, merging into the traffic of the main road behind them.  Tooth parked the car directly outside the artisan district’s western road, and the change of the scenery appeared immediate, the roads becoming thin and winding through the once makeshift buildings that now held an air of Italian architecture with tiled roofs and towering walls.

“…How long have you known this guy anyway?”

Tooth chuckled, picking up her cheaply over-expensive coffee from the cup holder.  “Unlike you I have a life outside of school and mental breakdowns,” she teased, taking a sip of the whipped-creamed liquid.  “Two years ago, I roomed with him while I went to university in freshman year.  That year you decided to be out of it all.”

“I didn’t decide on anything,” complained Jack.

“I’d lost track of him for the past year,” continued Tooth, uninterrupted, “But we met up when Manny asked me to help out with the commission.  I basically had to make sure he was making the statue.”

“You mean that Bunny statue?” Jack questioned, gesturing vaguely behind them.

“That’s the one.”  Tooth smiled softly to herself, taking another sip.  She glanced down at the clock, and her eyes widened.  She swallowed with a gulp, bobbing her head with the movement, causing her hair to fall from behind her ears in thick curtains of rope.  “Oh my God, I have a class in ten minutes!”

Jack sat up.  “What?  But you have to–”

“No time!  Go, get – get out!” Tooth cried, shoving the boy against the car door.

“What?  What are you–” Jack protested, finally pulling the handle.  He tumbled out, and Tooth threw his bag out of the car.  Jack caught it in his arms, his hair misshapen in the gentle wind as Tooth started the engine back up.  The rumble filled the air, and the cyan bug came to life.  “You’re insane!” cried the man, “What am I supposed to do?”

“Walk!  It’s not that far!” called Tooth over the engine through the open window.  “It’s the big art studio, just down the street.  Take the third right, and then the second left, and it’s on the left side.”  She started to back away, looking behind her as she moved out of the parking zone.

“Wait!” said Jack, leaping back to the window.  “What’s the class you’re going to?”

Tooth only laughed, grinning with her sparkling white teeth.  They contrasted her Indian skin tone perfectly, and they opened to reply, “Mister Night!”

The car sped off down the road, leaving behind a trail of dust.  Jack coughed, waving the air before his face.

“I told you he’s gay!” he shouted.  He kicked at the ground, sending up another cloud of dirt.  “Figures,” he muttered, turning back to the small road.  “I could just skip out on it; I have an excuse,” he thought aloud, mostly to himself, and partly because he expected Tooth to still be watching his every movement, and decided he wanted to take his chances at disobeying her.  But he steeled his shoulders, shrugging on his worn satchel, and began to trudge into the dark alleyway.

That really was the only thing to call it, an alleyway.  As Jack progressed down it, the streets became narrower, and Jack realized Tooth’s smart decision to not drive through the small streets.  The one-lane road seemed ancient, with worn plaster walls caving in on every side.  Peeling yellowed paint hung loosely on the walls, the tin chimney spouts casting spiked shadows on the ground.

Jack gazed up at the sun peeking through the gap between the roofs above him.  Curved, ceramic shingles dangled on the edges, the gutters nonexistent on the sloped tips of the houses.  They pressed together in quaint townhomes, and soon the scenery became happier, resembling the homemade look that Jack associated with his view of Burgess.  He left the city life of the business and university districts behind him, returning to a world between the suburbs he knew, and yet so warm and homely like the craftsmanship of North’s creations.  He felt his cheeks beginning to heat up at the embarrassing memories from his childhood and he looked down at his feet.

He thought of North building the old house at the edge of town.  His mother wondered why he lived in the suburbs, when he made everything by hand.

“The children,” North had replied, his voice filled with the joy of pre-tragedy.  “All the children live here!  They need toys here, not with artist.”

But he was an artist, and Jack knew North really wished for this space.  North loved the close quarters, and he loved the air of community that filled these tightly knit streets.  He preferred this to the spaces of green lawn.  He needed the rustic experience of art.  Even now, Jack began to forget about the old workshop, and the lake hidden in the forest behind.

A large mural dripped with fresh paint on an open wall.  The dotted art breathed an air of Australian Aboriginal picture, but with the American culture that prevailed in Burgess.  Drifting down from light to darkness descended the form of green leaves, meeting with the earth below.  Sprouting from a riverbed grew reeds, brown as the ducks that saw through them.  The nature framed the lake, the sunlight from the real world entering the painting and rippling the water gently.

Jack paused, staring at the light blue water, and his mind drifted to colder thoughts.  The blue began to cloud his vision, becoming darker, suffocating, threatening.  He heard the same cracks in his mind, the screams.  He furrowed his brow as the orchestra came to climax, his vision beginning to black out…

“You seem new around here, mister.  What’s your name?”

A gasp escaped his throat, and Jack blinked away tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.  He looked down at the little girl standing next to him.  She blinked up with gray eyes through messy black hair.  A black knitted cardigan overlaid a snow-white dress, and it fluttered behind her in the small breezes through the street, much like feathers on a summer breeze.  Small black shoes with yellow details encased her feet, the cloth ragged at the edges from days of running with the children.

“I-I’m Jack,” he replied, still shocked at the girl’s sudden appearance.  He hesitated, before asking, “What’s yours?”

The girl lifted a finger to her mouth, and hopped a little to face Jack.  He looked down at her feet shyly.  “Mama says I’m not allowed to talk to strangers…”

Jack laughed, kneeling down in front of her.  His worn satchel hit the ground gently, but he ignored it.  “You talked to me first.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind,” protested the girl, looking up at him.  “I’m not supposed to talk to you, so I’m not gonna!”

Jack only grinned. “Okay, then, don’t,” he replied simply.

As he stood up to catch his bearing again, the girl fidgeted with the hem of her dress.  Finally, she exclaimed, “I like your hair!”  She quickly clamped a small hand over her mouth, looking down at her feet again.

“My… hair?” Jack questioned, reaching up at tugging at his bangs.  He then smiled again.  “Oh, you mean the color?”  The girl nodded.  “Do… you want to touch it?” he asked.  When she nodded again, he knelt down next to her.

She reached out a tentative finger, extending her hand to meet Jack’s scalp.  When her fingertips met the soft hair, she gasped softly, the way that children do.  Jack chuckled, and his blue eyes met her bright stormy grey ones.  She blushed, bringing her hand back and looking down at her feet.

“Kailash!” called an older voice, a woman’s.  “Where did you go, my little goose?”  The woman walked out from behind a bend, and she smiled warmly at her daughter.  Then she noticed Jack, and her eyes narrowed slightly.  “Kailash, what did I say about talking to strangers?”

The girl, Kailash, perked up at the sound of her mothers voice, and she ran to her, hugging her leg.  “He’s really nice, Mama, and he has pretty hair!”

“Just because they have pretty hair does not mean they’re nice.”  She glanced up at the awkward Jack, who shrugged his shoulders again to readjust his bag.  “Not that I think you’re mean,” she amended, “But she needs to learn.”

Jack smiled a little.  “It’s a good thing to know,” he agreed, taking a moment to look at the new arrival.  Her deep auburn hair fell from a messy attempt at a bun, strands landing in her face and more hanging in loose ropes down her back.  She had the same stormy grey eyes as her daughter, with a protective air clouding them.  Her yellow sundress draped loosely down her thin figure, and a white overcoat covered her otherwise bare arms.

After an awkward pause, Jack held out his hand.  “Oh, um, I’m Jack.”

The woman accepted it warmly, a smile creasing the corners of her eyes.  “Katherine.  I see you’ve met Kailash.”  She glanced down at her daughter, rubbing her shoulder gently.  Her gaze returned back upward, curiosity hinting behind the clouds of her face.  “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Oh, I actually live on the other side of town,” Jack stated, stumbling over his words.  “Or, used to, at least.  I lived with my uncle, at the edge of the suburbs.”

Katherine’s eyes narrowed again, and Jack felt the expression was common on her face, like squinting at lines of text for analysis.  “You mean that old house?  Next to the lake?”

Jack cursed himself silently.  “Er, yeah, that’s the one,” he replied shakily.  “My uncle is Nick St. North…”

The clouds darted to his white hair, and the worn satchel at his side.  “So you must be Jackson Overland, then.”

Jack’s breath caught.  “…Yes, I am,” he said, the tension gone from his voice, replaced with sturdy walls of defense.

The silence stretched out between the two, and Kailash shifted nervously again against her mother’s leg.  Jack let the challenge leak into his gaze, and he knew Katherine felt it.  She stared back, the clouds hardening to reflective slate.

“Well,” she broke the silence.  She smiled with her lips, and it gave a gentle glow to her face.  “You have your mother’s eyes.”

Jack took a shaky breath, his chest heaving as the clouds parted, and sunlight fell into the narrow road through the buildings.  A breeze swept through the alley, ruffling the girls’ dresses.

He plastered his signature smirk over the tears building up.  “My mother’s eyes were brown.”

“Yes,” stated Katherine, “But they were also filled with joy.”  She glanced down at her daughter again, patting her shoulder.  “Come, Kailash; we have to get home before lunch.”  She looked up at Jack. “So what brings you here to this part of town?” she asked, beginning to walk towards him.

Jack froze as she advanced, but breathed a sigh of relief when she passed him.  His head snapped up, and he turned to stumble after her.  “I’m, um, I’m actually looking for a roommate.  North, he’s going back to Russia, and…”

“North?” questioned the woman incredulously.  “What will we do without the toymaker, huh Kailash?”  When her daughter only looked up at her, she sighed.  “Who are you looking for?”

“Well,” started Jack, “My friend Tooth set me up to room with a… Bunnymund?”

“Oh, you mean Aster?” exclaimed the woman, smiling.  “He’s our neighbor.  He’s an excellent artist.”

“Yeah… I’ve seen,” said Jack simply, nearly tripping over an uneven cobblestone in the road.  They took a right turn, and the street became even narrower, barely wide enough for two parties to walk on opposite sides of the street.

“You know he painted that mural on that wall back there, right?”

“He did?”

Katherine nodded.  “Yep.  He paints a new one every season.  He’s gotten the summer one early, though, this year.  He usually waits until next week.”

“It’s going to rain next week.”

“Oh, maybe that’s why,” she commented, looking back fondly at the mural out of her line of sight.  “I haven’t seen him about much since Easter.  He’s usually hopping about everywhere, but he’s been cooped up ever since Tooth came back to see him.”

“Tooth?” Jack asked, stopping.  “What about her?”

“Oh, do you know her?” Katherine wondered, also pausing to look back at him.  Kailash’s hair parted from her eyes, and she gazed up at him curiously.

Jack nodded eagerly, but with a slight hesitance in his voice as he replied, “She’s my best friend.  I heard she roomed with him for her freshman year.”

“Ah, yes, she mentioned you.  She would never stop talking about you, actually.  Something about pulling out your wisdom tooth with a toaster?” smirked Katherine.  She began to walk again.

Jack chuckled, running forward to catch up.  “I needed some money!  And besides, it wasn’t exactly pleasant.”

Kailash took Jack’s hand in her own, almost shocking the man to stop again.  But she only swung her arms between Jack and her mother, humming slightly.  “Mama, can I pull out a tooth with a toaster?”

“No,” Katherine replied sternly.  “And don’t you dare try anything similar.”  She glared up at Jack, with a light shining through her playful tempest in her eyes.  “I’m not sure if you’ll be a good influence on my daughter, but maybe you’ll do Aster some good.”

Jack looked away from her gaze hurriedly.  He absentmindedly tightened his grip on Kailash’s hand, but only slightly for support.  “You know a lot about him?”

“Mama owns a book shop right across from Mister Bunny,” Kailash said, looking down at her feet as she leapt from cobblestone to the next.  She gave a great jump, and both adults quickly tensed their arms to support her as she swung freely, laughing like a maniac with giddy innocence.  She landed, giggling, “Mama says he’s only ele… ele… e-le-men-ti-a-ri-ly smart.”

“Elementary, my little goose,” sniggered Katherine, her smile beaming with warmth at her daughter.

“Honk, honk!” shouted the girl, laughing as a flock of startled pigeons let flight from the rooftops above, cooing away with the loud flapping of wings.

Jack laughed.  “Is he that bad?” he asked.

“Not at all,” said Katherine.  “He’s just been moody since he saw Tooth again, and I blame it on loneliness.”

Jack’s smile faltered.  “Tooth never mentioned him.  Did they ever…?” Jack trailed off, glancing cautiously down at the little girl between them.

Katherine stared at him quizzically for a moment, before throwing her head back to a gleefully hysteric guffaw.  “Hah!” she cried, “No!  Never in a million years!  I think he just wants a roommate.  The flat’s pretty big for one person.”

They continued to walk, Katherine sniggering slightly every few moments.  Kailash occupied herself with more swinging, humming a little tune that played at the back of her mind.  Jack looked down at her and smiled, and then he gazed at the walls around them.  They were walking the narrow alley between two blocks, and small side doors opened out into the narrow street.  A few cans filled with trash lined them, but not enough to hinder any movement.  Sunlight leaked down through the buildings above, and he smiled, gazing around at the old architecture.  Burgess grew from its artisan district; these were the oldest buildings in the city, and it showed in their root-deep structures and layers of peeling paint.  The smell in the air was of home.

Suddenly, they turned out onto a wide road.  Few people walked past, most hanging signs on the outside of whatever small business they ran.  Others knocked on doors to small townhomes, or let themselves inside to eat lunch during their break.  Most of the people carried the carefree air of contentedness, knowing what they loved in life and living it.  Jack knew then he wanted more than anything to live here.

“This is one of the bigger side streets,” Katherine said, noting the boy’s wonder.  “The west street is used more for the artists galleries during the summer, and the open air market that comes around every week.  You’re lucky you went there today instead of Wednesday, or you wouldn’t have gotten through everyone.”

“There’s a market?” Jack asked.  “That’s awesome!”

Katherine grinned openly, and gave Jack a teasing look of disbelief.  “You’ve lived in Burgess your whole life, and you’ve never been to the artisan district?”

Jack shook his head, and voiced, “Nope.  Never had a reason to.  I didn’t talk to Tooth much when she lived here; I… wasn’t able to see her much while she went off to college.”

Katherine only nodded while they began to walk, her expressions suddenly solemn.  “I understand.”  She smiled down at Kailash. “Hurry, little goose, or we’ll be late to open!”

They broke out into a run, their dresses flowing behind them in the light of the noontime sun that filtered softly though the fabric.  Jack dragged behind them, tripping over the uneven road while he attempted to hold on to his bag.  Kailash laughed with her mother, whose hair broke out of its bun, and they both whooped as they crashed past an innocent passerby.

“Sorry!” Jack shouted back, unable to help the laugh that escaped his lips.  The offended man only laughed and waved back, picking up his dropped cap from the ground, dusting it off to place it safely on his head, a smirk accompanying his motions.

The trio weaved around the rare parked car on the side of the street, backed up close to the empty walls with just enough room to squeeze by.  They leapt over the displays of pottery from a street artist, who took the intrusion with less kindness.  His shouts of anger followed them down the street, laced with curses in Italian and English, many of which were not suitable for the untainted ears of the young Kailash.  Jack only laughed, letting his bag fly behind him as the strap pulled at his chest.  He enjoyed the feeling of being free down these narrow roads, having to dodge with the two girls before him.

Finally, they came to an abrupt stop in front of a small set of stairs.  Katherine sat down wearily, leaning onto her knees as she caught her breath.  Sweat coated a thin layer on her forehead, and Jack felt some underneath his own hoodie.  He wondered momentarily why he still wore it as the weather grew warmer, but dismissed the thought of ever exchanging it for a t-shirt.

“Mama,” started Kailash, her rush of adrenaline causing her to visibly vibrate on her feet, “what does ‘reckless bastard’ mean?”

“Nothing you need to know,” snapped Katherine, grimacing up at Jack.  The white-haired man only slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

“Ah, Miss Katherine, I see you are on time, as per usual,” sounded an elderly voice.

“Mister Qwerty!” shouted Kailash, leaping on the new arrival, an old man wearing a professor’s suit, much similar to Kozmotis’ when on duty, and a bowler cap.  Large round spectacles rested on his nose, the bronze edges glinting in the daylight.

“Why, hello there, little girly.  How are we today?” the man exclaimed, bending down to embrace the girl.

“Is Will here?”

“I’m right here, Kailash,” spoke another voice, much younger, and a bow stepped out from behind Mr. Qwerty’s legs.  He barely came up to Kailash’s shoulder, but his hair spiked up in the front, adding a few extra inches of height.  He dressed in raggedy pants and a worn-out t-shirt, obviously ready for some playing.

“William!” cried Kailash excitedly, and she took him by the hand.  “I’ll see you later, Mister Fairy!”

“Mister… Fairy?” Jack questioned, arching an eyebrow at Katherine.

Katherine only gave him a curious, knowing look with a playful smirk before she turned to Mr. Qwerty.  “Hello, Qwerty, how are you?”

“I’m doing fine this afternoon, and you?”

“Oh, the same.  I’m just about to open.  We got a little sidetracked by Jack here,” Katherine said, gesturing to the boy in question.

“Well, hello lad.  Call me Qwerty,” announced the old man, whipping off his bowler cap and bowing low.  White hair tumbled out of his hat, braided along the length.  The strands fell down his back and over his shoulders, and he didn’t bother to tuck them back under the headpiece he placed back upon his crown.  “It is an honor to meet, what Kailash calls, ‘Mister Fairy’.”

Jack blushed in embarrassment as another loud voice called from across the street.

“Did I hear that right?  ‘Mister Fairy’?”

Jack braced himself for another new face, almost overwhelmed by the colorful cast, when he stopped, staring up at the man that spoke.

He stood tall, with an annoying air of stubborn pride that captivated his audience with a combination of accommodating smiles and confused wonder.  He crossed his muscular, lightly tanned arms across his firm chest.  He wore a green paint-stained shirt, his hands covered with clay and adding to the splotches of color on his clothes.  Baggy brown cargo pants dropped to just below his knees, exposing his lean calves dusted with light brown hair against his skin.  His large feet filled his sandals nicely, showing his toes also caked with clay that made his nails look filthy.  Jack removed his eyes from the mess of a man back up his muscled body to gaze at his face.

His jaw set in a challenging strut, and his blue-grey hair was cut short and swept up from his forehead.  Sideburns framed his angular, handsome face, and black eyebrows furrowed in instinctual suspicion as he glared down at the group.  But his eyes, they shined with an emerald green that glittered in the sun, and Jack couldn’t help but imagine those eyes smiling, like the wrinkles around them suggested.

But for now the man only stalked down his front steps, his walk oddly spread out but still fluid, and so natural with confidence that Jack stared until he towered over him.

“Aster!” exclaimed Mr. Qwerty, “It’s a miracle to see you outside of your studio these days!  To what do we owe the honor?”

Aster flashed a brief smile at Mr. Qwerty, baring perfect white teeth that caught Jack’s attention as his thoughts turned immediately towards Tooth, and what she would kill to inspect them thoroughly.  No doubt she had already.  But then Aster’s accusing gaze directed itself back on Jack, and he swore that he saw the man’s strikingly flawless nose twitch as he looked him over, taking in the blue hoodie and brown jeans with the worn-out satchel.  Jack suddenly felt insecure, unable to stand the presence of this rare specimen of an attractive human being, and wished he’d worn something nicer.

“Who’s this?” questioned the man.  His voice sounded deep and rough with an Australian accent, and Jack nearly lost it right there.

“That would be, I believe, ‘Mister Fairy’,” joked Mr. Qwerty, seemingly oblivious to Jack’s mortified state.

Aster snorted, “Looks more like a snowflake, if you ask me.  So, mate, let me ask again.  Who are you?”

Jack blinked, coming out of his stupor, and his mouth open and shut like a fish, strangled words fighting to form in his throat.  He became less confident by the second, every attempt at speaking becoming another dead cat, stuttering off his tongue in shock.

Thankfully, Katherine came to his rescue.  “This is Jack,” she said, stepping between them.  “Jack, this is Aster Bunnymund, that artist who made the mural.”

A sudden balloon burst in Jack’s throat, and he managed to exclaim with an incredulous voice, “ _You’re_ Aster Bunnymund?”

Aster leaned back, smirking.  “The one and only, mate.  So what can I do for you?”

Jack met a wall, and he stopped.  “Umm… I’m a friend of Tooth’s.  She told me that you needed a flat mate?”

“Whoa, wait, hold up a tic,” Aster said.  He held up a hand into Jack’s face, and the white-haired man backed away in surprise.  “Who’s Tooth to you?”

Jack’s fists balled up suddenly at his sides.  “Who’s Tooth to _me_?” he bristled.  “She just happens to be my best friend, and she might as well be my twin sister.”

“Oh,” sighed Aster, as if that explained everything.  “So you’re that mentally disabled kid she always talks about.”

“Excuse me?” shouted Jack.

“The Sheila called me the other day about you,” Aster continued, dryly.  “Said something about you needing space.  So sure, I said yeah.”

“I know who _you_ are, _Bunny_ ,” Jack interrupted, whipping out his finger and jabbing it underneath the man’s chin.  The startled green eyes looked up in shock, and Jack almost faltered at the gorgeous green orbs.  But he continued, undeterred, “You are some _friend_ she met freshman year in college, and you just do favors for her because you have some weird crush on her from years ago!  I also know that you need _rent_ , which is the only reason I agreed to help you.”  Maybe his words exaggerated, now that he faced the man himself, but it still held some fact in it.

Aster folded his arms again, backing away.  “Well then, can you pay it?”

This time Jack did falter, and he dropped his hand to his side, his other clutching at his satchel protectively like a security blanket.  When he answered, his mouth remained tight-lipped, and his words stunted.

“Yes.  I can.”

“Good,” Aster said, backing away even further back to his door.  “You have a week to move in.  Get Tooth to call me if you need help.”  And with that, he turned to stalk up his steps to the door.

“I can help myself!” Jack called after him, stamping his foot involuntarily.

The door slammed, a tinkling bell’s ringing muffled through the closed door, and Aster left Jack cringing on the street.  Three pairs of eyes: one stormy grey, another spectacled, and the last a startling, crystal blue brimming with the beginning of guilty tears stared up at the shop door in shock, and they remained there until the joyful cries of children playing within the mountains of books reached their ears, and the sun began its slow descent from its peak in the sky.

* * *

 

_…Are you still mad?_

“I’m not mad!  I’m just… I’m offended!  Who would say something like that?”

_Are you still going to move in with him?_

“…Yes.”

_Why?_

“He’s the first person to actually say something like that to me.  And… I don’t know, maybe he was just…”

_Don’t make excuses for him._

“I’m not!  It’s just… it was weird.”

_Fine, but if anything happens, I would strongly recommend moving_ out _of his flat._

“Hey, maybe this will end up being good for me.”

_Maybe… you still have to get a job._

“I think I’ve got that handled.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heheh... I like this chapter because Aster is just this giant asshat. But anyway, this chapter and the last were mildly difficult, especially the last one, because I wanted to try and give insight into Jack's mental disorders without revealing exactly what they were.
> 
> On another note: something I wanted to point out is how each character deals with Jack's breakdowns. Oh, and this isn't Aster dealing with one yet. This was him nearly causing one, but he didn't so it's okay. (It's really not.)
> 
> And the characters introduced here, the ones from the books, were totally off on a limb. They are all in the books, though.
> 
> Now, the next chapter is going to be when Jack gets a job. The town relationships are going to be confusing as crap as well, but I'm not revealing anything! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets a job.

_I still think that this whole thing is a bad idea._

“Really?  What was your first clue?”

_You’re getting to close to your past, Jack.  It’s not healthy._

“Wasn’t the point of therapy to help me get over what happened?”

_Yes, but…_

“And how are we supposed to know that it’s working unless I try?  I can’t keep avoiding people forever; not when I’m going to be living here my whole life.”

_Point taken.  But still, you look…_

“Like a broken mess?”

_No, just shaken._

“Well it wasn’t exactly pleasant, Sandy.”

* * *

 

Glittering in the center of Burgess Park towered the glittering chrome, steel, and glass walls of the recreational center.  It twisted like a dome, several stories of tapering rooms dedicated to sports, creativity, and art.  Not exactly a skyscraper; more like a football stadium with the field filled by scaffolding and cement dividers of universes.

Each room held its own world for the passionate, or just another passing of time for the moderate viewer and participator.  But the rec center still remained the ultimate center of activity for the entire city, stacked with more than just the usual sports equipment and arts studios.  No, extensions throughout the years also equipped the center with a movie theater, a library, and altogether an environment for anyone to enjoy: all thanks to one family, now run by the most powerful man in Burgess:

Manny.

The sunlight reflected off the shaped metal beams and into the café that Jack waited in.  His cold coffee sat forgotten on the wooden table, and he held his chin on the back of his hand while the other rested before him.  His blue eyes squinted shut, and he blinked spots out of them as the sun hit his face.

The door jangled open, the tiny bell ringing throughout the near-empty shop.  Tooth rushed in, her messy hair flying behind her in an invisible wind as it fell in its usual dark ropes down her back.  Bangles shook on her wrists with her fluttering movements, and the feather earrings swung low to brush her shoulders.  She rushed forward, her heeled boots thumping lightly on the ground.  With a sparkling smile, she ordered her usual from the barista – an ironic chocolate latté piled with whipped cream and topped with chocolate shavings – before she turned to Jack.  One look and her eyes softened in concern.

She accepted her coffee with another smile, and made her way to Jack’s table next to the window.

“Jack,” she began as she sat down next to him, “You look terrible.”

Jack only shrugged, looking at up her through his bangs.  He smirked, “Hello to you too.”

“Have you gotten any sleep at all?” Tooth asked, pointedly staring at the bags under his eyes.  They sagged, and the whites in his gaze looked bloodshot.  His face had the drooped neutrality of exhaustion.

“Recently?” Jack frowned a little, more like a nonchalant confirmation of her assumptions.  “Haven’t been able to.  I’ve been… stressed.”

“Jack…”

Jack sat up, and the light of the sun fell away from his skin, creating a deathly pale image in the natural café lighting.  He picked up his once-lukewarm coffee and chugged down the cup.  He wiped his mouth on his hoodie sleeve with a loud, exaggerated sigh.  With an air of finality, his hands set down on the table for a moment before he stood.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Tooth shot him a glare, and protested, “But I’m still drinking!”

“It’s your fault for getting here late!” Jack said, grabbing the crook of her arm and tugging her up from her chair.

“Jack!  You’re going to make me spill it!” she cried, attempting to sip her drink while still protecting her bright green and purple top.

Jack managed to chuckle, “It has too much sugar anyway.”

“I think I deserve it!” Tooth said, but she gave in and stood up.  “You, on the other hand, have some issues with flossing.”

Jack groaned, “Please, I do not need that today.”  He made his way for the door, listening to the bell above as he left the café.

“No, you need it twice a day!”

They made their way across the street hurriedly.  Tooth finished her latté in record time, and tossed it in one of the bins on the sidewalk.  Jack led her to the steps.  He came to a stop before the sculpture of the Easter Bunny.

Up close, the detail carved into the stone seemed exquisite.  Every arc of frozen paint seemed liquid, and the Bunny itself beamed with an air of joy and hope.  The little egglets around the creature’s paws pranced in clay delight.  Every hair on the paintbrush stood out with a slightly different shade of tan art.  Jack smirked as he noticed the lack of color, although every hue in existence managed to imagine itself into the sculpture.

Tooth stepped up next to him, tilting her head.  A small mustache of whipped cream rested on her upper lip, but Jack chose to ignore it, pretending to study the statue intensely.

“He’s really good, isn’t he?” asked Tooth, looking pointedly at Jack.  Something glinted in her eye, like a small hope.

Yes.  “He’s okay,” Jack replied coolly.

The spark left Tooth’s gaze, and she visibly deflated.  “Just ‘okay’?  Jack, he’s amazing!”

“He’s an amazing jerk.  How’d you manage to live with him for a whole year?”

Now she looked confused.  “He’s not a jerk.  He’s really sweet!  Well,” she corrected herself, “he can be a bit brash… but he’s not mean.”

Jack huffed annoyance and set his icy gaze onto her.  “The first thing he said to me was that I looked like a snowflake.”

Tooth sniggered.  “Well, you do.  And I don’t see how that’s mean.  It’s a compliment–”

“And then he said I was mentally disabled.”

That stopped her.  Her breath seemed to catch, and when she spoke, it choked out like a shocked rush, “W-what?  Aster would never–”

“Tooth,” interrupted Jack, “How much did you tell him?”

Her entire face dimmed, and she gazed at Jack with a look of guilt.  “I-I… I didn’t tell him anything about the incident, if that’s what you mean.  I just…”

“You warned him, didn’t you?” Jack said.  The accusing tone left his voice, to be replaced with begrudging understanding.

“I told him that you had mood swings, and to not say anything… like that.”  She looked down at her feet, clutching her arm to her side.

“Well he obviously didn’t listen.”

“Jack, I’m sorry, I didn’t think he would–”

“No, it’s okay,” said Jack, reaching out to touch her shoulder.  She looked up to him again, her violet eyes meeting calm blue.  “It was different,” he paused, lost in a sudden thought.  His eyes became slightly softer, like a small crack in the permafrost of blue.  “And…”

Tooth suddenly stood straight, and a smile spread across her face.  The feathers hanging from her ears seemed to flutter excitedly as she started to bounce on her feet.  “No!  You don’t… You do!  Oh my god you do!”  She suddenly leapt forward and captured Jack in a crushing hug, his satchel digging into his side.

Jack managed to breath through his most likely punctured lungs, “I what?”

The excited fairy of a girl finally released him, now practically jumping off the ground.  “You _like_ him!”

Jack shoved her.  “No!  I mean, he’s nice…” He blinked, as his words reached his own ears.  “Wait – no, he’s not!  And no, I don’t like him!  I just said he was different, that’s all!”

“But you _like_ different!”

“Tooth I swear to god that I will–”

“Jackson Overland!” called out a large, booming voice, and the said white-haired boy cringed immediately.  Numerous onlookers turned to stare at the mention of the name, their eyes falling on Jack.  He fought the urge to hide behind Tooth, and instead sighed to turn and face the newcomer.

The large, round figure in the suit seemingly bounced down the front steps of the rec center, a beaming grin plastered on his face, not in any way fake.  His genuine happiness radiated to Jack, who only cowered away from the influence.  The man’s white outfit, accented by a pale cream tie that matched his wispy hair and pointed, heeled shoes, almost sparkled in the sunlight.  Jack loved the man, but hated his clothing choice, as did Tooth, and anyone else that laid eyes on him.

“Hi… Manny,” Jack muttered, hugging his bag close to his side.  He ignored the flash of uncomfortable pain when one of his books jabbed under his ribs.

“Jack!” cried the man, pulling his target into a bone-crushing hug.  Jack wheezed, his struggle ignored by the oblivious Manny, who continued, “It’s been so long!  I almost didn’t recognize you,” he set Jack back down on solid ground, “You dyed your hair.”

Jack heaved in air, reaching a hand out to clutch at Tooth’s shoulder.  “I,” he choked, “I got a little tired of people recognizing me.”  He gestured loosely at the gathering crowd.

Understanding dawned across Manny’s face.  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologized.  “Come, let’s get you inside.  My office?”

“Sounds great,” Tooth supplied, aiding Jack as he dramatically wheezed.  “Mister Fairy over here could use some time out of the spotlight.”

“Tooth…” Jack threatened, “I will end you.”

Manny only laughed.  “Come on, you two.”  As he began to turn, he stopped, with a sideways glance at Tooth that broke into a small chuckle.  “Toothiana, I believe you have a little…” he gestured to his lip.

Tooth yelped, and quickly wiped her whipped moustache on her arm.  She glared at Jack, and rubbed her hand off on his hoodie.  Jack dodged out of the way, and the cream greeted his cheek instead.  Laughing the antics, Manny began to walk up the steps.

The doors slid open, and the cool air conditioning rolled out like a cloud.  Jack sighed, his shoulders dropping from the tension they carried as they continued down the hall.  The white tiled floors emitted small clacks with every footstep.  The hallways curved around the edge of the rec center, like a barricade encasing the various rooms within them.  The sunlight filtered in through the tall glass windows, casting large squares of light across the floor.

Manny proceeded a few feet ahead of them, giving Tooth ample time to torment Jack further.

“Admit it,” whispered Tooth, “you like him.”

“No, I don’t!” replied Jack, his hushed voice louder in the nearly empty hallway.  Before lunch, and in the middle of the week, most children attended school, and most adults checked into their day jobs.  A few college students milled around along the short distance from the front entrance to the ground-level weight-lifting gym and other workout areas, and some mothers tethered their arms to their toddlers on the way up to the children’s daycares and activity areas on the higher floors.  Jack averted his gaze from them, and continued, softer.  “Okay, yes, he’s… attractive…”

“You think he’s attractive?”

“No!” Jack responded immediately, in a shout.  He looked around him alarmed, and then quickly lowered back to a whisper, “I mean – Would you just drop it?!  He’s big, full of himself, and he’s just – I don’t like him!”

“But you’re attracted to him.”

“No, I’m not.”

Tooth only smiled, undeterred.  “So, what’s his best… _trait_?”

Jack shoved her, and she laughed, draining the tension from both of them.  “I don’t know, I only met him once.  Would you lay off?”

They continued in silence until they reached the elevators, wary of Manny’s listening ears.  Jack felt a low blush beginning to crawl up his neck as he realized how loud their voices sounded.

The lift opened with a small ding, and they entered.  Manny pushed the button for the seventh floor, the top floor where his office set.  He then pressed another button, the fifth floor.  Jack felt the urge to glare at the back of his head, which he did, unhappily.

“Why’d you do that, Manny?” Tooth asked, looking pointedly at the button.

“I have to check on a few things, make any preparations for summer.  You know how it is.  I’m assuming you both know the way to my office, so I’ll meet you there,” he replied, as the elevator opened again on the floor.  A burst of cold air rushed into the lift, and Tooth shivered, while Jack only continued to glare.

After he left, Tooth sighed, turning to Jack.  “You can’t stay mad at him.”

“I’m not mad at him.  But I know what he’s trying to do, and it’s annoying,” said Jack, still drilling holes into the elevator doors.

“I’m not talking about Manny,” Tooth replied.  Her tone became cautious.  “I’m talking about Aster.”  When Jack began to groan she interrupted, “If he makes you so mad, why are you moving in with him?  I can help you find someone else!”

“I don’t know, alright?” Jack nearly shouted.  “I don’t know, he’s…  It was different!  He wasn’t trying to sugarcoat anything, or walk on eggshells around me because I’m ‘mentally disabled’.  He wasn’t nice about it – but he didn’t push either.  It was… I _liked_ it.  I don’t like him; I just liked…” he trailed off.

“Him,” Tooth finished.  “You like him.  You liked that he didn’t give you sympathy.  You liked that he didn’t know you.”  She sighed, “Aster doesn’t do things like that.  He did it on purpose.  So he probably won’t do something like that again.”

Jack smiled sadly.  “Then maybe I’ll like him a little more.”

Tooth only nodded, and the door opened.  They took a short walk down a large, open hallway, other offices branching off the sides.  The wooden doors glinted in the light from the glass ceiling above.  They approached a large, white door with bronze-colored finishing, and it opened into a small office.  Jack plopped himself down half-heartedly onto a large, plush sofa that sat off to the side of the room.  Tooth rested gently down next to him.  A small plate of sugar cookies piled up on the coffee table in front of them.

Tooth eyed Jack wearily, and saw his hand twitch toward the cookies.

“Jack, you already had that coffee.  I think that that’s enough – Hey!”

Jack ignored her, grabbing two and stuffing one in his mouth.  He chomped away, some sort of cloud hanging around him.  His crystal blue eyes swept around the room, his gaze cold as they rested on artifacts he remembered from three years ago.

“He hasn’t changed much, has he?  Still has that stupid paper snowflake I made him in second grade.  Why doesn’t he just throw it out?”

“I happen to be very fond of that craft, and you put a lot of work into it,” came Manny’s reply as he entered the room.  He crossed the room to his large desk that faced the door.

“Yeah, two minutes of scissors, and then a half hour of getting glitter out of my hair.  That was a lot of work.”

Manny only grinned at him, and gestured to the chairs in front of the desk.

Jack remained unmoving, and he complained, “Why do we have to sit there?  Can’t you come over here?”

“I take it that this isn’t a social visit, Jack,” Manny observed smoothly.  “I prefer to take all my business matters at my desk.”

Tooth stood, pulling Jack up by his arm.  He only reacted by hugging his bag close again.  They took their seats across from Manny, who folded his hand beneath his chin in a small steeple.  Jack took another bite of his second cookie.

“So,” Manny said, after a pause, “why are you here?”

Jack shook his head, still defiant against everything.

Tooth, instead, answered, “Jack needs a job.  North is leaving for Russia, and I’m leaving for dental school, and Jack needs a place to stay.  He’s found one, but he has to help pay rent.”

Manny hummed, nodding slowly.  “And where is this place?”

“With the artist that made the sculpture for Easter.”

“Aster?” Manny blinked.  A twinkle seemed to enter his beady eyes.  “Well I have just the job for you, Jack!” He stood abruptly, walking to some file cabinets in the corner.  An excited hop appeared in his step, with a sense of profound relief.  “How are you with janitorial work?”

Jack spluttered, “W-what?  Janitorial work?”  The incredulous tone in his voice only made Manny laugh.

“Well, it is an entry level position, Jack.  I can’t just give you a high-up position immediately, no matter how much you might as well be family to me.  I mean, I haven’t seen you in three years.”

A rushing blush reddened Jack’s cheeks with embarrassed guilt.  “And I’m sorry for that… but a janitor?”

Manny only chuckled.  “I think you’ll be fond of this one.  Fifth floor.  There’s not too much to clean,” he paused.  When he spoke again, he chose his words carefully, and his voice became solemn, “You’ll just be handling the skates.  Put them away and such.”

Both Tooth and Jack froze, Tooth giving Manny a glare, while Jack’s gaze suddenly pointed to his hands in his lap.  The silence stretched within the room, and Jack tugged at his satchel’s fraying strap.  He heard the shifting of papers falling on the desk, and he looked up at Manny.  The man held a determined, solid gaze, as if preparing for the past three years for this single moment.

“All I need,” he began, his voice flat, “is your signature, and then you can start next week.”

Jack breathed a sigh, contemplating the decision in his mind.  Eventually, took up a pen from the desk, a black one.  “Fine,” he muttered.  “But I’m going to get moved in first.”  The scratch of the pen met his ears softly, and the feeling in his fingers seemed to numb.

Immediately, he stood.  “Bye, Manny, I’ll see you next week.”

Tooth stood up with him, and they made their way for the door.  Just as his hand rested on the knob, Manny cleared his throat.

“Jack?” he called.  The boy stopped, but didn’t turn.  Manny hesitated, before stating, “It’s good to see you again.”

Jack’s grip on the door tightened barely.  With a final break, he pushed it open.

* * *

 

_You were being difficult._

“I know.  But I haven’t seen him in three years, and the first thing he does is push that on me!”

_At least you’re only handling the skates._

“It doesn’t matter!”

_So why are you doing this?_

“Because I need a job to live with Aster.”

_And why are you living with Aster?_

“…I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really REALLY hate this chapter. It was a pain to write, mainly because of Manny. (Asshole) But I mean, I've read so many fics where Manny is just a jerk, and yet in the books he's not, and so I didn't want to portray him as that here. But he still manages to be... insensitive. I don't know, I just don't like Manny in general. On another topic, Aster comes back next chapter, and I've finally emptied my queue of what I've been transferring from fanfiction.net. So you know what that means? It means that I'm not going to update for days on end in between chapters. YAY! :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack moves in to Aster's apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a long time since I updated this...  
> Whelp, here it is! And it's really long (6,000 words?)  
> Also, there's a lot of dialogue... (Hope I didn't mess up...)

_Jack, what happened to your arm?_

“Nothing, just a scratch.”

_And how do you feel about that?_

"Haha, very funny."

_You've been so serious lately._

"I thought you said my humor was a defensive result of the accident."

_It is, but it's still odd to see you so out of it._

"I'm not out of it, I'm just more focused."

_Now, is that a good thing, Jack?_

"...I'm not sure."

* * *

 

He set down the light cardboard box on the edge of the bed next to the other three.  It sank into the plush blue blankets from Jack’s room back at home.  Well, not his home any longer, as much as he hated to think that.

“You travel light,” remarked the Australian watching him from the doorway.

Jack nearly groaned at the sound of the man’s voice, and he unconsciously gripped at the strap of his satchel across his chest.  He turned to face him, locking his gaze with the deep green eyes.  His firm eyebrows furrowed slightly, in something hinting at nervousness, but Jack dismissed it.  Aster smirked at him, denying any form of hesitance.

Jack stated, “I never had much to carry.  This is my laptop, and some clothes.  I don’t have much else.”

He’d left his humor at the door.  Still convinced of Aster’s attitude, he didn’t feel like starting another fight through jokes.  His tone came out challenging, however, and Aster seemed to bristle in response, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned on the doorframe.

The man seemed to contemplate his next words carefully, and Jack held his form the entire stretch of silence.  It began to grow awkward, but Jack kept his eyes locked on the Australian’s.

Aster dropped his head, raising an arm to scratch at his neck, and Jack noticed a slight tinge to his cheeks.  “Do… Do you like it, then?” he asked, gesturing around the room.

It looked freshly painted, the walls a light blue and dotted with snowflakes.  The pattern broke only for a glass window with square metal grilles set across its length, dividing the pane into two rows of five columns each.  Light blue sheets matching the paint and a comforter of a darker shade adorned his small double-sized bed, pushed in the corner next to the door.  From the doorway, set into left side of the shorter wall of the rectangular room, Aster raised his head to gently examine Jack, his green eyes hesitant as the younger man looked around them.

To the left of the doorway, the folding door of the shallow in-the-wall closet stood closed.  Across from the both of them, a small television was mounted on the wall above a shelf stacked with a few movies.  A larger row of books bore down on the discs, seemingly crushing them under the weight of ink on paper.  Jack nearly grimaced at the sight of the literature, but remained mindful of the man watching his reactions.  Instead, he continued his circle, his gaze falling on two bean bags piled atop a rug patterned similarly to the wall.  Finally, he noted the light brown desk backed up to the bed with a chair before it, low enough that he could lie on his blankets and still work on the table.

He found himself nodding, impressed by the design, and replied, “It’s nice.  Pretty big for a flat.”  He studied the walls again, and couldn’t help a smirk creeping at his lips.  “Snowflakes?” he asked, turning to face the Australian.

The man’s face seemed to redden on his tanned cheeks, and he scratched his neck again, pointedly avoiding Jack’s gaze.  “Y-yeah, there was a lot of time before you got here since last week, and… You looked like a snowflake…”

Jack’s brain froze over, as did his iron hold on his bag.  Was this flirting?  His mind on the one-way track, he let some smug feeling creep to his lips, and he retorted, “I didn’t think you’d meant that as a compliment.”

“I didn’t!” Aster snapped back as quick as a bunny.  His eyes glinted harshly up at Jack, who almost flinched at the annoyed hostility.  But Aster blinked and shook himself quickly, and his eyes dropped back down to his feet.  “Listen, mate, I wanted to apologize for being so harsh last week.  I haven’t really talked to people since Tooth roomed here, and…” he trailed off, and slowly looked back at Jack, his eyebrows drooping. “I really mucked things up, didn’t I?”

The confidence in Jack’s chest drooped a little, realizing Aster’s intent with his actions.  But he brushed it off, filing the disappointment into the recesses of his mind to be thrown away.

Instead, he awkwardly answered, “Nah, you weren’t that bad.  I’ve taken a worse beating.  Physically, too.”

To that, Aster only walked further into the room, and Jack’s wishful thinking turned it into a stalking pace.  His mind failed to notice the odd fidgeting of Aster’s shoulders, or the way his fists balled up and released in tension.  So when the Australian simply walked past him to sit on the edge of the bed, he really did feel a sense of surprise, or at least subtle apprehension.

“You’re not the only one in that boat, mate,” Aster said softly, his knuckles rapping at his kneecaps ever so gently.

Jack stood above the man for a moment, his tongue caught as he struggled to formulate a response.

When it came to him, he nearly blurted out the words, but reeled them back behind his teasing smirk.  He walked the few steps to sit beside Aster, and prompted,  “So… this was Tooth’s room first?”

“Yeah,” Aster nodded, “if you don’t mind it.”

“Not at all,” Jack replied.  “We’ve shared beds before.  Not that big a deal.”

Aster nearly choked, it seemed, his eyes widening slightly, and he stammered, “Wh-what was that, mate?”

Jack laughed, shoving Aster’s shoulder gently.  “Not like that!  Wow,” he remarked, “You do have people problems.”

“Rack off,” Aster complained, although he carried a bit of lightness now.  “I got along with Tooth just fine.  And Katherine’s swell, too, mate.”

“Humph,” Jack hummed, “So how do you get work?  I bet that’s why you’re having money problems.”

Aster shrugged.  “I’ve always got money problems.  I just don’t want to have to turn to my old man’s funds anymore.  Feels like I’m wasting him away, you know?”

“What happened to your father?” Jack asked, confused.

The Australian’s form seemed to shoot up, his face suddenly stiff and alert.  It was almost comical, if not for the urgent avoidance on his face.  “Whelp, that’s enough questions for one sitting,” he exclaimed, standing up.  “Let’s get you unpacked, shall we?”

“Um, no,” Jack protested shifting to guard the pile of boxes on his bed.  “I’ll just do it later.”

“We don’t have time later,” demanded Aster, “It’s now or never.”

“What?  Why?”

“Just, come on, let’s go.”

Aster reached past Jack, who leapt up to stop the man.  In response, the Australian simply pushed Jack away, and he fell to the floor.

His satchel hit the carpet, but the worn fabric held the clasp closed.

“Hey!” Jack cried, picking himself up from off the rug, “That’s my stuff!  I said I’d unpack it later!”

But it was too late – Aster already held the skates in his fist, dangling them from the laces.  They were white, or used to be.  Now they dulled with beat up scuffmarks along the instep, and the blade looked tarnished with dirt and darker spots of brown stains.  The toe picks were reduced to nearly smooth ridges, completely useless.  Tufts of threading broke out of the leather, and the wooden bases of the skates looked trashed and contained gashes along the grains.  The tattered laces seemed ready to tear, and Aster quickly lowered them back to the bed.

“Blimey,” he breathed, staring down at them, “They’re beautiful.  Are they yours?”

Jack quickly stood up, and snatched them off the bed, cradling them carefully.  He held them with a sort of careful dread, and laid them gently back into the box, atop a facedown picture frame.  He felt a bubbling rising in his chest, but shoved it down, too anxious to create a masked smile.

He let his fingers drag along the heel of one, and trailed them against the lackluster metal blade.  He said softly, “They were my mother’s.  North hand made them, and she gave them to me.”  He glanced up briefly, and asked, “Are they really beautiful?”

“Well, they’re old,” Aster began, his eyes brightening minutely, oblivious to Jack’s despondency as he spoke with a passion, “But they really are works of art.  Do you see the stitching here?”  He gestured to the threads, and continued, “Just like snowflakes.  And the blades are perfect, if not a little dirty.  Sure, the hollow’s a bit warped, but with a little mending then she’ll be apples.  And the base is just–“ He cut off, recognizing his own ramblings, and he moved his eyes to look at Jack.

The younger man only looked back, his lips parted slightly.  “I never thought they were that beautiful,” he murmured.  He took a shuddering breath, his chest rising as his lips shook.  He raised a fist to rub at his burning eyes.

“Jack?” Aster asked softly, hesitant as a hand hovered over the boy’s shoulder, “What happened to your mum?”

Feeling the tables finally turning, Jack raised his head to face the man.  Despite his red eyes displaying his grief, he hid the sadness behind his thin lips as they stretched into a smile.

“That’s enough questions for one sitting,” he repeated Aster’s words back, his voice soft and controlled.  He waved a hand absentmindedly at the boxes as his throat gulped down another breath.  “I’ll unpack it all later.  Don’t you have a shop to run?”

After a short pause of uncertainty, Aster shook his head, attempting to brighten up the room.  “No, not today!” he exclaimed, his fake enthusiasm an obvious effort to cheer Jack up.  When the younger man chuckled, he continued, gentler, “Katherine and the little ankle-biter wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood, so they invited us over for some lunch.  She said Qwerty would be there with the youngest of the Williams.”

Aster began to lead Jack out of the bedroom and into the main living room.  To the right, a paper sliding door led to Aster’s office, where Jack figured he handled the finances and similar.  Another door to his left, a few paces away, led to Aster’s room, the darker brown wood hiding the area from view.  A large clear area spread out before them, the paler wood layered with dust.  Obviously Aster hadn’t spent the time to clean in a few weeks.  Half-empty cans of paint and a mixing tray filled with light blue paint sat abandoned in one corner in an attempt to look either artistic or casual, although to Jack it only looked mildly pathetic.  A plush comfy couch, the red fabric aged to a dull brown, dominated the center of the room, in front of a large fireplace with a brick chimney that led up the wall and through the ceiling.  On the mantle were some small sculptures, and a couple picture frames, but Aster pushed Jack past too fast for him to take note of the details other than a few blurred silhouettes.

A round table sat in the corner of the apartment, next to a sliding glass door that led to a balcony overlooking the street outside.  Aster pulled the younger man past the smaller kitchen area to the left of it, outfitted with an island counter supplied with a group of stools lined up before it.  Pots and pans dangled above the counter, still for now, but images of banging them for his own amusement entertained Jack’s mind as they rushed past.

Aster took a turn down a narrow hallway that created a perpendicular wall to the kitchen.  It opened up as they turned again to the left to a wider passage.  Two doors in the right wall opened to smaller closets, and artwork hung on the left.  Aster led Jack down to the end of the hall, where the door opened up to the staircase to the shop below.

The stairs curved to the left in a narrow U shape.  They were on metal struts, leaving the bottom space beneath them open for whatever random trinkets Aster felt too lazy to put away.  Only as they descended did Jack feel he could speak.

“How many Williams are there?” he asked, bringing up the man’s last comment.

Aster’s head twitched in response as he acknowledged the question.  “Three.  They’re all siblings too; it’s a little loopy, if you ask me.  We call them by their age: Tall William, William the Almost Youngest, and William the Absolute Youngest.”

They landed on another hallway, this one alight with sunlight through the windows on the left.  Near the end, a doorway led off to the right, to Aster’s art studio, storage room, and kiln.  Earlier, he’d given Jack a small tour, just gestures really, and a stern warning not to bother him while he worked.  Jack shrugged at the recent memory, and they continued into the shop.

“Do they have a dad named William too?” Jack half-joked, attempting to match the optimism slowly fading from Aster’s posture.

The doorway opened up behind the register of the shop, the counter containing the small area in the corner of the room.  It was laid into the front side of the shop, perpendicular to the door across the room.  Aster picked up the flat to exit the counter, ducking slightly as he passed through, only by instinct from his height.

When Jack followed him, he answered matter-of-factly, “Yeah, his name was Old William.”

“Really?” Jack gaped.  They weaved through the sculpted displays Aster kept lined up before the cashier.  The store seemed to have an unorganized cleanliness, unlike the living space above; the shining floors squeak with the rubber footsteps of Jack’s feet.

“He died,” Aster stated bluntly.  “Sometime before I got here.  He founded the Burgess Orphanage with Mr. Qwerty a long time ago.  He was prepared.”

Jack’s pace slowed, and he paused in the narrow aisle between the wood and papier-mâché shelf and the water paints.  His hand found his satchel’s strap and squeezed.  “Oh,” Jack voiced, unable to think of anything else.

If Aster heard anything, he ignored it, and simply continued to the door.  It opened with the bell ringing, a light tinkle through the shop.  The sound made Jack’s head snap back up, and he rushed forward to meet Aster.

The Australian had a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but he said nothing, only standing aside for Jack to exit first.

The warm air of late spring met Jack’s skin, dancing across it gently and heating him with the sun’s rays filtering through the gaps between the rooftops above.  The balcony from Aster’s kitchen hung above him, the corner where the base met the wall yellowed with aging plaster.  Along the wall to his left some plaster peeled away, revealing the rust-red brickwork beneath.  Jack smiled at the sight, and unconsciously he felt himself loosen up in his tense shoulders.

Aster’s arms bumped against his back as the door shut gently behind them.  They crowded the top step of the shop, pressed close together to avoid falling down to the street.  The tension froze Jack’s spine once again at the contact, and he felt heat building below his jaw as he gulped involuntarily.

Towering over him, Aster only gazed at him curiously.  “You okay, mate?”

Jack blinked, before his mind caught up to him.  He leapt down the steps to the sidewalk.  “Yep!” he replied hastily, “Let’s hurry; I don’t want to be late for my own party!”

Aster chuckled, seemingly oblivious as always, and tucked his hands into his pockets.  “It’s lunch, mate.  You can’t be late for it – we just call it an afternoon tea.”  He trotted down to join Jack on the curb.

Jack’s mind cooled down quickly, and he fell into his teasing posture, walking ahead into the middle of the narrow two-lane road.  “Afternoon tea?” he teased back, spinning around to face Aster, “We don’t have that here in America, _Cottonta–_ ”

“ _JACK!_ ” Aster shouted.

The horn blared too late in Jack ears.  He turned, to see black metal glinting in the sunlight, barreling down the road towards him.  The tires screeched in an effort to brake, but not to stop.  Jack felt his mind blank, his eyes widening in fear.  When his legs began to move, they planted roots in the ground, weighed down like stones.

Aster shot into Jack’s side, catching him around the waist.  They threw to the side, crashing down on the sidewalk across the street.

Jack’s bag snapped open, the contents spilling across the pavement.

As the car rushed past, Aster leapt up, leaving Jack stunned on the ground.

“Jackass!” he shouted after the vehicle.  “Watch where you’re going, you bloody wanker!  Somebody get the number on that piece of shit car!”  Anger radiated off of him, his hands balled into fists as he turned to Jack’s form on the curb.  Jack shifted, moving his arm to sit up, when he grimaced in pain, a small gasp leaving his lips.  “Jack!” Aster cried, worry winning over the rage.  He knelt down to the boy’s side, lifting his back up.  A scrape ran up Jack’s right forearm, pushing up the sleeve of his hoodie and tainting the frayed edges red.  “Christ, Jackie, were you trying to get yourself killed?”

Jack stammered, “I-I didn’t see it coming.”

“Obviously, you gumby,” Aster reprimanded.  His tone became stern, and he scolded, “You just stopped in the middle of the road!  What were you thinking, mate?”

“I-I don’t know, I–”

The door of Katherine’s bookshop next to them slammed open, and the woman rushed down the steps.

“Oh my god,” she exclaimed, “I saw the car, but I didn’t see–” When she saw Jack, she clapped a hand over her mouth.  “Oh god,” she breathed, “Are you alright?”  She knelt down next to the two.  “Can you stand?  Come on, let’s get you inside.”

She gingerly took Jack’s shoulder, helping him up.  Once he had his feet back on the ground, he brushed her off, and nearly shoved Aster off of him.

“I’m fine, I swear.  It’s just a scratch,” he evaded, bending down to gather the loose papers and textbooks.  He shoved them back into his bag in an unorganized haste, glancing around himself anxiously.

“Jack,” started Aster, “You’re whole arm is messed up.”

“Aster, I’m fine.”

Katherine entered, “But Jack–”

“I’m fine,” Jack snapped, “Let’s get inside before more people show up.”

Already, other tenants and shop owners were poking their heads out of doors and windows, leaning over balconies above them to catch a glimpse of the commotion.  Unconsciously, Jack slipped his hood up, hiding his white hair from view.  He left the sleeve rolled past his elbow, however, to prevent it from getting in the wound.  He kneeled to gather a few last pencils, stuffing them into the satchel, before shutting the clasp.

“We’re trying to help you, Jack,” retorted Aster.

“Well you can’t help me while we’re standing out here, can you, Aster,” Jack stated, moving to the steps.  He ascended, lifting a hand for the door handle.  His other arm hugged his satchel to his chest, and a eyes flickered to Katherine, and he allowed a sense of urgency to enter his gaze.

She got the hint, and cut off Aster’s next argument, “Jack’s right, let’s get him inside.”

She stalked past Aster, her long burnt-brown hair swinging down her back.  In her loose jeans she climbed up the stairs to join Jack, rubber soles of her beat-up sneakers scraping gently against the concrete.

“Go on in and sit at the counter.  It’s to the right,” she offered to Jack.

The boy hesitated, before nodding.

The entrance was fairly open, dark wood outlining the room in an earthy atmosphere.  Dust mites seemed to crawl through the air at a snails pace, drifting lazily through the dim beams of light.  An archway stood before him, crafted of books.  The aging tomes collected dust, unmoved for years.  They barely brushed the ceiling, other books filling in the gaps.  The leather-bound covers peeled at the edges, loose papers sticking out in tatters.  Through the arch, Jack glimpsed shelves of books, and hidden in a secluded nook in the corner, a small clerk’s desk.

To his right, another doorway, this one wooden, opened up to a narrower hallway.  Windows set into the right wall, letting in light onto the dark wood.  A small closet on the left side was open, revealing coats and shawls dangling precariously from hangers.  Two pairs of goulashes, one yellow and the other black, stacked to the side.

Jack started down the hall, and paused at the closet, absently taking one of the coats, a white one, between his fingers.  His ears strained to catch the words he could here murmured outside.

“…you alright?” Katherine was saying.

“Yeah,” came the gruff reply from Aster.  “Just shaken, is all.  That car wasn’t even going to stop, Katherine.  I ought to chase after it, teach them a lesson…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Aster.  What would you do?  Yelling won’t change anything.”

“I could try.”

Katherine laughed, the light sound still carrying a hint of worry as it echoed into the hallway.  “You’re sure you’re alright?” she repeated.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You seem bothered.”

“Just a little grumpy, I guess.  I’m worried about the kid.  I feel bad for the other week.”  Jack’s mind perked up at the words, and his head turned to the door.

“He’s not a kid, Aster.”

“Well he’s a lot younger than me, and he’s acting that reckless–”

“He wasn’t being reckless!  You’re just being unreasonable!  You’re the reckless one, throwing yourself out there.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

An audible sigh drifted through the walls.  “You saved his life.  There wasn’t anything else you could have done.”  A pause, like a breath of compliance, before she murmured, “I worry about you, locked away in your shop, painting murals all alone.”

“I told you, it was going to rain last week, and that paint needed to set before that.”

“That’s not the point, Aster.”

“…I know, Katherine.  But I never asked you to – Agh!”  The sharp gasp drove through the walls to Jack’s ears, nailing them against his mind.

“Aster!  Your back!” Katherine exclaimed.  “Come on, let’s get you inside.  Jack’s probably getting impatient, if he’s anything like his mother…”

Jack heard the shuffled footsteps nearing the door, and he backed away from the closet.

As he turned, he nearly tripped over the little girl standing there.  Her black hair was pulled back today with a white hairband, and her grey eyes gazed up at Jack with a young innocence.

“Hi, Mister Fairy!” she said, swishing the hem of her light green skirt gently.  Her fists balled up in the fabric as she jumped excitedly, reveling in the sight of the boy with pretty white hair.

In his shock, Jack momentarily forgot Aster and Katherine approaching.

“You’ve been standing there the whole time, mate?” sounded the telltale voice of the Australian, just behind Jack’s shoulder.

At those words, Jack whipped around, bringing his satchel up to guard his chest.

Before either could speak again, Katherine shoved Aster gently at his arm.  “Let’s go, you two, we need to bandage you both up.”

She pushed them both down the hallway, dodging the little girl flapping excitedly around their legs.  Kailash swung her arms around her white shirt, tugging at the cloth in near excitement.

“What’s gotten into you, little goose?” Katherine asked, glancing down at her daughter.

She seemed to puff out her words in short breaths: “William [ _gasp_ ] made a giant [ _gasp_ ] book fort [ _gasp_ ] and it’s _HUGE!_ ”

Another laugh, this one without any stress, left Katherine’s lips.  As they turned to the left at the end of the hallway, she replied, “Well then you’d better hurry back to him.”

Kailash nodded, and darted off into the room they entered.  The dark wood kept its hold on the architecture here too, in what looked to be a small café.  More shelves lined the walls, and a bar was built in the corner.  Glass cases built into the counter displayed sweet pastries and small sandwiches held together with toothpicks.  The smell of freshly baked chocolate permeated the air.  Transparent bottles of alcohol lined the shelves behind the bar, and crystal clear glasses hung from racks on the ceiling.

Around the room, books crowded the space.  Plush couches sank in on themselves under the weight of stacks of tomes.  Small lamps hung from the ceiling, the bulbs flickering to imitate candlelight.  More electric flames wavered along the walls, casting the room into a relaxing shadow.  Warmth flooded the air, not uncomfortable like scorching summer, but gentle like the spring atmosphere outside the bookshop.

A large pile of books was plopped down the corner, crudely shaped into a dome, with a small opening in the front propped up by stray couch cushions.  When Kailash rushed for it, a messy mop of brown hair, spiking up in the front, poked out of the hill, and young William’s face glowed with pride at his creation.

“Princess!” he exclaimed at Kailash, “The kingdom is in danger!  It’s the Dream Pirates!”

“Bad Dream Pirates!” shouted Kailash, diving for the entrance, and they both crowded inside, giggling to themselves in their imagined castle.

Katherine chuckled, guiding Jack to the bar.  Aster sat down on a stool next to him, grimacing as his back met the rest.

Footsteps echoed above them, and the sound of toilet flushing flooded through the walls.  The plumbing overhead began to run, the water pouring through the pipes and the walls.

After a moment, Mr. Qwerty descended the narrow staircase hidden between two bookshelves.  His bowler hat perched on top of his head, casually concealing his eccentric braids, and he dried his hands off on a handkerchief, which he neatly folded up and replaced in his pants pocket.

When his eyes landed on Jack and Aster, they widened behind his spectacles.  His face broke into a grin, and he walked forward to greet the two.

“Why Aster!” he exclaimed, taking the man’s hand in his own washed ones.  “And Jack!” he said, turning to the younger guest.  His spectacled gaze dropped to the boy’s arm, seeing the blood smeared across the skin.  “Good heavens!” he cried, “What in God’s name happened to you two?”

Aster snorted, “Bloody car nearly ran us over.  Jack wasn’t paying attention.”

“Ah,” Qwerty said, as if that explained life’s greatest mystery, “I hope no one else was injured.”

“Nah, just us,” Aster replied.

Jack remained silent through the exchange, instead turning his attention to Katherine, who ducked behind the bar.  She rustled around for a moment, before emerging triumphant, a plastic case with a red cross plastered on the front of it in her hand.

“Got it!” she emphasized.  “I’m going to fix these two up, Qwerty.  Feel free to read anything, as usual.”

“That I shall, madam.  Now, if you’ll excuse me boys, I believe I hear the faint calling of William Joyce at my ears.”

He gave a sort of polite bow, before prancing off to the bookshelves.  Within seconds he’d found his selection and sat in a cozy armchair, the reading lamp next to him turning his glasses into yellow plates of gold.

Jack stared at him, confused at what looked to be a children’s book in the man’s hands, but Katherine’s voice brought him back to the bar.

She focused on Aster’s back first.  The fabric of his shirt remained in tatters on his back, so he removed it, exposing the tanned skin to the room.  Jack’s eyes fell on the Australian’s arms, and noted the tattoos previously hidden underneath his sleeves.  They looked like flowers.  He snapped his eyes back to the man’s back.  Aster’s firm muscles rippled underneath the wounds, tense at the pain that entered his nerves.  The injuries were light, just speckles of scrapes across his broad shoulders.  But Jack could tell they stung, and he winced with Aster as Katherine took a wet cloth to him.

“Ah,” the man gasped, his breath escaping in thin spurts.  “Damn, Katherine, go easy.”

“It’s your fault for landing on your back,” she reprimanded, pressing harder in irony.

“It was – ah, Christ woman! – It was either my back or the kid’s face.”

Suppressing guilt washed through Jack, and he hugged his bag close.  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Katherine looked over at him.  “It’s not your fault, Jack.”

“It’s the bloody driver’s,” Aster agreed.  “If he _had_ hit you, he would’ve just kept going.  Idiot.”

Katherine was generous with the antibiotic, dolloping a large blob on the man’s skin.  Aster breathed a sigh of relief at the cool cream on his injuries.  Katherine finished dressing the wound with a large spongy cloth across his back, taping the edges down with bandages.

“I have a spare shirt in the closet upstairs.  It might be a bit small on you, but it’s better than torn clothes,” she offered, washing her hands off in the sink behind the bar.

Aster protested, “You don’t have to do that, Katherine.  I can just walk back across the street–”

“And get run over by another car?” she joked, “Go on, it’s one of yours anyway.”

After a moment, he grumbled, “Fine… But I’m keeping it.”

“I said it’s one of yours.”

Still mumbling under his breath, Aster retreated up the stairs, leaving his torn one on the ground.

Katherine gazed fondly after him.  “He’s so stubborn, isn’t he?” she commented.

“What?” Jack asked, realizing the question was directed at him.  His eyes had trailed after the man as well, but probably not for the same reasons.

Katherine laughed, bringing another wet cloth up to Jack’s arm.  He tensed at the contact, but her grip was surprisingly gentle compared to how she’d handled Aster.  After she’s wiped the grime away, she pressed down, still careful of the boy, to stop the bleeding.

“I worry about you too, you know,” she said.

Jack’s grip on his bag tightened at his side, and he carefully replied, “What do you mean?”

“I know you were listening in on us, Jack,” Katherine answered.  She shot him a wry look, smiling softly.  “It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

“Sorry…”

“There’s no reason to apologize.”  Katherine laid aside the cloth, relieving the pressure on Jack’s arm.  She spurted a handful of cream into her palm, and began to apply it to the scrape.  “You changed a lot,” she began.  “Last time I saw you was more than three years ago.  You were at the rec center with your mother and little sister.”

Jack’s mind drew a blank on the memory.  “I don’t remember meeting you before…”

“You didn’t.  I knew your mother.  We all did, of course.  She helped a lot of people in this city.”  The circles of her hand on Jack’s wound slowed softly, and she murmured, “I wish I could have said thank you.  She saved Kailash for me.”

The bag fell to Jack’s side abruptly, his grip loosening.  The strap snapped taut in the air.  “How?”

“Kailash’s father left when I was pregnant with her.  He wasn’t very… fond of the bookshop.  Or me, for that matter.”  Katherine shrugged at the old scar, not letting it get to her.  “I was... thinking about getting an abortion, honestly.  But when I went to the clinic, your mother was there.  She was volunteering at the front desk.”  She started wrapping the wound, winding the cloth-lined bandaged around Jack’s arm.  “I’d mentioned Kailash’s father by accident.  Your mother ended up telling me about your dad, and how he’d left.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember _him_ that much either,” Jack commented absentmindedly, not wanting to start that conversation.

“Long story short,” Katherine continued, catching Jack’s hint, “I left the clinic still pregnant.”  Silver scissors snipped through the bandage quickly.  “And I haven’t regretted that decision once since that day.”

They both looked over at Kailash, peeking her head out of the book fort, squealing with happiness as William acted out the part of the valiant knight, defending against the invisible Dream Pirates, crashing books off of the pile and shouting to protect the princess.

“When I saw you at the rec center,” Katherine said softly, a touch of quiet remembrance on her voice, “you were teasing your sister about the ice rink.  She looked a lot like your mother.”

She turned back to the bandage and tied it off.  As she packed up the supplies, she glanced up at the boy.  Jack kept his hands folded, frozen in his lap, his breathing bubbling lowly in his throat.  His gaze remained locked on the children.

“I haven’t heard much about her lately.  How is she?”

His breath stopped, and his tongue felt like a brick in his mouth.  As he tried to speak, it rubbed against his teeth like sandpaper, wearing away at his excuses.

“I–” he stammered, “I don’t…”

Just then, Aster emerged from the staircase, coming to Jack’s rescue once again.  He rubbed down at the purple shirt.  Dark brown branches sprouted across the chest, pulled tight around his muscles.

“Christ, Katherine,” the man exclaimed, “How old is this shirt?”

“Christmas, two years ago,” Katherine replied, switching gears quickly.  She glanced at Jack once more, before turning to the shelves of alcohol behind her.  The dark wood reflected the flickering electricity through the tainted liquids, throwing them into amber glows.  “You really should take your presents home.  That’s why we give them to you.  What type of painkiller do you want?”

Aster hefted himself back into his stool, and sighed, “Just a throw down.  Don’t want to get pissed in front of the ankle-biters.”

“Fair enough,” Katherine replied, pouring him a small shot glass.  “And you?”

“Er, I don’t drink,” answered Jack, pulling his bag back into his lap.

“Not even a soda?” Katherine teased.

Jack shook his head.  “No, thank you.”

Suddenly, Kailash popped up in between the two men.  “Mister Fairy!  The kingdom is being attacked!  We need another knight!”

“E-excuse me?”

“Mister Bunny!” she cried, tugging at Aster’s shirt.  It stretched even further, baring the man’s collarbone to the room.  His skin glinted in the dim light.

“Oi!  Wait up, Sheila, aren’t we here for the food?”

Katherine laughed, “It won’t be ready for a few more minutes.  Go ahead, Aster, I know you want to.”

Those words were all that Aster needed.  He downed his shot quickly, and leapt off of the chair, chasing the little girl across the room.  They whipped around Mr. Qwerty’s chair, but the old man ignored them, immersed in his literature.

With a final swoop, he grabbed her, hefting her into the air.

“Argh!” he cried, “It’s the nasty Dream Pirates coming to get you!”

Kailash shrieked in excitement, laughter echoing from her throat as Aster threw her down on an open couch.  He tickled her until she begged for him to stop, gasping through giggling fits.  Out of nowhere, William jumped up onto the couch, tackling Aster in a very knightly style.  The three rolled around on the rug, two against one.

Katherine laughed, clapping her hands as she watched.  “I’m going to go finish up the cooking,” she said to Jack.  “Make sure they don’t wear him out, will you?”

Jack nodded, and she left through a door behind the bar.  As he watched Aster with the children, a small smile tugged at his lips.  The grip on his bag loosened minutely.

“Oi, Jack!  A little help here, would you?” called Aster, as William beat him with a pillow and Kailash wrapped her arms around his leg.

He paused, yes, but it quickly went away, and he nodded before stepping down from the stool.

* * *

 

_…Jack._

“What?”

_I think that this might actually be good for you._

“…I think so too.”

_…Jack?_

“Yeah, Sandy?”

_Where is your bag?_

“I think… I left it back at the flat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... This ended up being a lot more dramatic than I intended. I mean, the car scene wasn't going to happen, but then it did, and the conversation with Katherine was supposed to be about how good Aster is with the kids, not her backstory. The only planned thing was Aster finding the skates.  
> Anyway, since some people have said they are OCs: Katherine, Kailash, Qwerty, and the Williams are all not OCs. They are all from the books, The Guardians of Childhood.  
> Eh, I like how it turned out for the most part. I hope you like it too. :)  
> Oh, and more on Jack's mother soon~


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North leaves for Russia, and Jack finds a connection.

“He’s gone, Sandy.”

_“…And are you okay with that?”_

“I’m doing good so far.  I’ve mailed him a letter.  Still waiting for a reply, though.”

_“It’s been less than a week, Jack.  I’m sure he’s still moving in.”_

“Yeah, and I only sent the letter yesterday.  I’m not worried.”

_“That’s… good.”_

* * *

 

His footsteps echoed lightly on the pavement, the soles of his wearing sneakers slapping on the sidewalk.  Since the car incident last week, he tended to keep far away from the curb, even in his hurry to get back home.

Home.  The word echoed in his thoughts.  Almost a week of living with Aster, and he already called the flat home.

The cool evening air felt nice on Jack’s skin, or at least, the small bits it touched.  Even in the warming month of May, he refused to remove his hoodie when in public.  Unless with Tooth or Aster, he kept his hood drawn up, shielding his face from the world.  He also carried his satchel with him, not having forgotten it since that one session with Sandy, two days after the lunch with Katherine.

The bag bounced against his thigh at the moment, as he jogged lightly along the street.  For a main street of the artisan district, it was narrow and curving through the sprawling buildings.

Jack drew his hoodie up a little tighter around himself, as heard the buzzing of mosquitos beginning to emerge for the night.  The uniform streetlights that dotted the street started to flicker on as the sun set behind the tall townhouses.  An electric buzz filled the air, calming his surroundings.

Even so, as he noticed the pink hues draining from the sky and the darkness of night spreading across the canvas, he quickened his pace to return to the flat – home.  Aster never minded if he arrived home late, but Jack needed to hit the shower before the Australian, or else he’d be left with just the cold water.

Sweat dripped down his back, sticking to the fabric of his shirt underneath his hoodie.  He ignored the inconvenience of the jacket, tucking his hands deeper in the front pockets.  The books in his satchel thumped unevenly at his hip.

He smoothly walked around the heaving trash bags piled before the steps up to the art shop.  Scrapped projects – the only results Aster had produced in the past week – and other bits of waste from the apartment lay within them.  Jack shook his head at the thought, remembering that the garbage truck arrived tomorrow morning, Thursday.  He planned on being out of the house then…  Not that it really mattered.

His sneakers slapped lightly up the steps, and his belt jangled as he fished his key off of the ring hanging from his hip.  With the rattle of the lock opening, Jack twisted the handle.

The bell rang through the empty shop.  Jack closed the door lightly behind him, sliding the deadbolt back into place.  As the tinkling sound faded, he began to weave through the shelves of art supplies and the scattered sculptures Aster kept out for sale.  He ducked behind the counter, heading through to the narrow hallway.

He poked his head down the branching hallway that led towards Aster’s studio.  “Aster?” he called, to receive no reply.  Shrugging, he padded to the stairs.

The metal struts holding up the staircase creaked with his footsteps, and he opened the door into the apartment.

The first thing to hit him was the smell.  Acrid smoke hung in the air, the odor of some burnt food.  Jack coughed, tucking his face into the crook of his arm.  He waved his hand before himself, fanning the scent away.

Rushing to the kitchen, he spotted the charred remains of some hunk of meat in the sink.  It was smoking slightly around the edges, but mostly doused by the running water pouring onto it from the tap.  The clear blue liquid ran off of the black chunk in dark streaks, carrying miniscule ashes with it.

Gas lit on the stove, heating up the metal pan atop it.  Jack hurried to flick the dial off, the small flame going out with a tiny wisp.  Smoke rose from the pan, clouding up the lamp hung above the kitchen.

A startled shock began to set in.  Jack leaned over the stove, his fingers curling around the edge of the counter.  His jaw locked steadily, as his mind settled down.  His tongue clicked in his mouth, and his heels bounced lightly in his shoes.

Finally, he took a deep breath, his bag lifting with his shoulders at his side, weighing him down.  He stood up, clutching the strap of his bag, as he gazed around the apartment.

The rest of the room was dim from the evening light filtering through the balcony window, washed a deep blue and black.  The lamp cast Jack's shadow across the wooden floor, just brushing  over the rug.

The water ran into the sink.  Slowly, Jack turned to shut off the flow.  It fell to a steady drip, the rivulets streaming off of the burnt remains of the meal.

A new silence filled the apartment, and it echoed in the darkness.  From the wall of hush sounded the dull tone of heavy breath and a light pounding.  Grunts filled the apartment, emitting from around the bedrooms.

The first thought to hit Jack sent heat to his cheeks.  His feet froze on the wooden floor, unable to move past the mental block before him.  But he shook his head, moving to the living area.  No unusual belongings littered the room, and nothing seemed out of place in the dark as he stalked around the vague shapes in the near-darkness.

Hesitantly, Jack approached Aster’s bedroom door.  Unlike his own, it was a thin paper sliding door, the tracks set into the to move it smoothly.  The sounds passed through the barrier easily.

The grunts were sporadic, and the thumps like hard blows to the air.  He heard the sound of a shifting grain, like a beanbag, just beneath each thud.  A breath left Jack lips involuntarily, as his shoulders eased.  He tugged gently at his shoulder, imagining the punching bag Aster hung in the corner of his room.

A frustrating day for the Australian, it seemed.

Sighing, Jack turned to his own room.  His door opened with a small click, creaking slightly in the dark apartment.  He dropped his bag unceremoniously onto the ground next to his bed, and flopped down on the mattress with a grunt of his own.

A few moments passed before he hefted himself up with a groan.  Another sigh escaped his lungs as he pulled his hoodie up over his head.  He stood, removing his undershirt as well, and continued his clumsy stripping as he made his way to the bathroom door.

The white-tiled room connected to Aster’s bedroom on the other side, and they shared it like most roommates.  Entering from Jack’s bedroom, the sink was against the wall on the right, and the toilet and shower to the left.  The lights were already on, oddly enough, but Jack paid it no mind as he moved to turn on the shower.

The water sprayed down, heating up slowly.  It rained down, pattering against the tile floor in contrast to the dripping water of the sink.  Steam began to rise, and Jack stepped in to the welcoming storm, relishing in the warm liquid meeting his skin.

The shower ran down his pale body in thick streams.  His hands reached for the soap absently, his vision focusing on memories.

For the first year after the accident, tension had radiated off of North.  Jack remained despondent to anything and everything, staring at nothing and merely turning his head when addressed.  Some days were easier than others, and Jack attempted a murmur in North’s general direction.  Other times…

Burnt dinners, broken furniture, shattering glass – Jack heard the loud cursing from his bedroom as he laid on his bed, staring out the window at the treetops and the sky, overcome by angst and a sense of denying shock.  The angry Russian, a floor below, destroyed his workshop, as he tried to piece back together the dolls he loved dearly, and he tried making something, anything to sew a tattered mind.  Nothing ever fixed it.  What mended Jack was just apathy towards depression.

And even now, he still was broken.

The water began to run cold, just as Jack started to lather conditioner into his hair.

The thought of Aster having someone over filled Jack with a bitter resentment.  He knew the Australian had a right to do what he wanted, but the younger man couldn’t help the stab of jealousy.  He knew… what did he know?  Two weeks since the first meeting, filled with nothing but a stifled, cautious desire.

Caution not directed towards Aster, but towards himself.  For that one year, he ruined his relationships, even just with friends.  Tooth stood by him, but she didn’t take the blunt of his episodes.  And everyone else, instead, became a target of his wandering mind.

Lost in his thoughts, Jack didn’t hear the bathroom door open.  Lukewarm water ran over his ears, drowning him in the sound of his melancholy.  He used the sound, the feeling, to torment himself sometimes, when he needed to snap himself out of something.  But with his mind settled on Aster, his triggers became damp gunpowder on the battlefield.

Ka-chink!  The shower curtain flew open.

Jack stared at Aster.  Aster stared at Jack, his green eyes glinting harshly in shock as they met frozen blue.  The water ran down Jack’s body, and the cool steam contained in the shower curled around Aster’s tan form, misting over the black tattoos that decorated his muscled arms and back.  Headphones dangled from Aster’s ears, the cords draping across his shoulders and trailing to the phone in his hand.  A heavy guitar riff blasted out from the tiny speakers.

The towel around Aster’s waist dropped.

For several moments, both remained frozen, just staring at each other.  Water poured lightly into the drain, the hollow noise falling into the pipes below.

Slowly, a pressure built in Jack’s throat, about to burst.

But Aster spoke first: “Um… Sorry, mate?” he coughed, lifting a hand to run through his hair, sweat glistening on his skin.

Jack opened his mouth, once, twice again, before stuttering, “W-what?”

Aster blinked, tilting his head, resting his other hand on his hip.  “What d’you mean ‘what’?”

“What the hell…” Jack murmured, trailing off.  His eyes flickered down, before quickly snapping back up.  Brought back to his senses, a bright red blush began to run across Jack’s face.

He slammed himself back against the shower wall, struggling to cover himself, crossing his legs as the water splashed out of the shower.

“Oh my God!” Jack shouted, “Get out!”

“Excuse me?” Aster replied, incredulous.

“I said get out!”  Jack scrambled for the shower curtain.  Suddenly, his feet slipped, and he tumbled forward, a yelp escaping from his throat.

Aster leapt back.  “Woah, mate!  What’re you doing?”

Jack snapped his gaze up at Aster, only to get a compromising, and highly possibly unwelcoming, view.  “AGH!” he screamed, “Put something on!”

“You’re getting the floor all wet!  Jack, get up!”

“Cover yourself, oh my god!”

“Jackie, get off the goddamn floor!”

Jack flung himself back, bumping into a wall in an attempt to shield his eyes.  A large cloth flopped onto him, a towel.

Frustratingly, Jack ripped the rag from his head, covering his waist as he scrambled to his feet.  As he stood, Aster wrapped another towel around his own waist, the one from before.  The Australian approached him, and held out a hand to clap Jack on the shoulder.

“You alright mate?”

“W-why are you naked?” Jack stammered, his horror still plastered across his face.

Aster snorted, “It’s not like you’ve never seen another bloke before.”

“Not you, you idiot!” Jack protested.  When Aster laughed, he shoved the man hard in the chest.

Aster barely budged, but caught Jack’s wrists.  “Hey, Jack, I’m sorry - I didn't mean to walk in on you."

"Did you hear the water, maybe?"

"Music," replied Aster, moving a hand to finger the headphones hanging over his chest.  "I was working out.  It makes me deaf, sorry."

Jack yanked himself from Aster's grip.  He stalked to the shower and shut off the water flow, and it went with a dull echo down the drain.  The blush on Jack’s cheeks began to die down slowly, and he turned himself away from Aster.

“I’m finished, anyway.”

“Uh, Jack, there’s still soap all in your hair,” Aster voiced, but Jack refused to turn around.

“It blends in, doesn’t it?”

“Well, I guess, but…”

Giving in, he shot an icy glare in Aster’s direction.  The green eyes bore into his own, intense with concern and confusion.  The Australian’s thick eyebrows furrowed, his mouth small as he thought to himself.  But even as Jack struggled to keep his anger apparent, he saw the man’s eyes soften, in what looked like amusement.

He opened his mouth to snap something sharp, but Aster beat him to it.

“When did you get home?  I didn’t hear you come in.”

Jack remained silent for a moment.  Home reverberated in his head, but he kept his expression neutral.  Eventually, he stated, “About ten minutes ago.  I was working late.”

“Oh,” Aster replied, “okay…”  His eyes widened slightly in a sort of restrained relief, as he leaned back and turned to the shower.  “So… You’re done?  You’re not going to get the soap out of your hair?”

“I have a towel.”

Aster smirked.  “That’s not really healthy,” he remarked.  “And it wastes a perfectly good washcloth.”

Jack folded his arms, facing the Australian as his weight settled on his hip.  “It’s soap, Aster.”

“And soap dries on cloth,” he retorted.  “Come on, I’ll help.”

The heat returned to Jack’s face in full throttle, bursting red into his cheeks.  “W-what?” he spluttered.  “I can do it myself!”

Aster burst out laughing, doubling over onto his knees.  His shoulder’s shook underneath the tattooed markings as the choked gasps escaped his lungs.  Jack stared on, his blush deepening in embarrassment.  Self-consciously, he straightened up and hugged his arm to his side.  Aster quickly gained control of himself, losing the battle of seriousness to mild chuckles as he settled down.

“Wow, mate,” he sniggered, wiping tears from his eyes.  "Didn't think you the one to take a joke so seriously."

Beginning to feel the anger seething underneath his skin, Jack balled his fists at his sides.  He huffed, directing all his rage at the man before him into his stance.

"It wasn't funny!" he protested.

"Uh-huh," Aster nodded.  He folded his arms and cocked his eyebrow.  His green eyes shone with amusement.  He tilted his head at Jack.  "Your towel's slipping."

Jack yelped, flailing out an arm to catch the cloth.  He clutched it to his chest, but it still dangled down to cover himself.  Flustered, he started backing up to the door.  He reached behind him for the handle.

Struggling to respond, he said the first words to come to his mind.  "D-don't use all the hot water," he stammered, his blush deepening further.

Aster grinned, his white teeth emerging from behind his wide smirk.  "Goodnight, Frostbite."

"Goodnight."

And with those last words, Jack turned to leave, slamming the door behind him.

For moment he stared into the darkness of his bedroom as the near-silence engulfed him.  Out of the quiet, the sound of the shower turned on again.   Chest heaving, Jack leaned back against the door, and he lifted his arm to his forehead, letting the towel drop to the ground.  The heat in his body seemed to glow through the darkness, even as he tried to hide it from himself.  It pooled through each limb, down to the tips of his fingers, and the very soles of his feet, before rising up to his head like a thermometer, the temperature rising with each passing moment.

“Crikey!  It’s freezing!” Aster’s voice shouted, travelling faintly through the walls.

A light chuckle bubbled up through Jack’s lips before he could stop it.  But the laughter quickly morphed into a small sob, bursting over his tongue as he covered his mouth.

He crossed over to his bed quickly, ignoring the dull ache in his chest.  He pulled on an old grey T-shirt and plush blue pajama pants, and unceremoniously flopped down onto the mattress.  An itch began at his nose, and he sniffled as his eyes burned softly.  Quietly, he buried his face into his pillow.  The water running through the pipes soothed his jumbled thoughts, pushing them to the back of his mind, and he drifted off into the consuming sleep.

* * *

 

The next morning, he awoke to loud knocking at the door.

"Jack!  Jack, you're going to be late!" Aster's voice shouted through the walls.

Groaning, Jack blinked open his eyes tiredly.  They felt heated, wet, and he batted away the sleep at the edges of his vision.  An annoying soreness lingered in his throat.  His mouth felt dry.

He stared at the blank dull white of his pillowcase.  Dust speckled the surface, along with thin pale hairs, nearly invisible in the morning air filtering in through the windows.  The itch in his nose grew to a sudden climax, and he sneezed, startling the fabric as he buried his face into his blankets.

“Jack!” Aster barked.  “I will enter, whether I have your permission or not!”

The younger man snapped his face to the door suddenly, sitting bolt upright.  He clutched at himself.  Shirt – check, pants – check, everything somewhat decent – check.  His shoulders dropped in relief, and he huffed a breath from his lips, aiming at a clump of white bangs falling over his eyes.

Just then, the door slammed open, and Aster barged in.  The Australian froze with his hand on the knob, one foot halfway into the bedroom.  His green eyes met Jack’s, who quickly flicked his gaze away.  Jack looked the man over: loose pajama pants, a paint-splattered t-shirt, and fuzzy bunny slippers adorned his form.  A loud laugh left his lips, and he fell back onto his bed with a flop.  His blankets shook with the laughter, shaking the mound like joyful snow.

Aster’s left eye twitched, and a corner of his mouth seemed to scowl down at Jack.  “What’s so funny, mate?”

“Bunny slippers!” Jack cried, still giggling.

“They're soft!” Bunny protested.  When Jack continued to laugh, he frowned.  “Fine,” he huffed, “I’ll be cooking breakfast.  I’m giving you five minutes until it’s ready.”  He left, closing the door behind him with a thump.

As his footsteps padded off, Jack settled down, the joy lingering on his lips.  Taking a few breaths, he heaved himself up again, and then swung his feet off the side of the bed.

His bare toes touched down on the soft carpet, and he sighed again.  Slowly, he stood up, and began to get ready for the day.

A few minutes later he left his bedroom, usual hoodie pulled over a T-shirt he found in the corner of the room.  He shut the door behind him softly.  Drifting from the kitchen was the warm smell of baking.  Saliva suddenly leapt in Jack’s mouth, as he sniffed in the scent.

“Mm,” he moaned lightly, stumbling drowsily around the corner to the kitchen, still rubbing the last residues of dreamsand from his eyes.

What he found made him question if this was a dream.  Aster stood before the oven, bending over as he peeked inside.  With a flourish, the man emerged triumphantly, pulling out with him a loaf of bread freshly baked on a wooden paddle.  Sweat dripped lightly on his forehead, which he wiped away with his forearm as he placed the bread on the counter.  A loud sigh filled the air, bursting forth from the fire, before it was stifled by the metal door and shut off by the switch above the furnace.

The Australian turned around after closing the oven.   A look of satisfaction lingered on his face, pulling at the corners of his mouth.  He still wore the dirty sleep-clothes, his unshaven morning stubble disgruntled with his bed head.  Jack smirked at the sight.

The smile on Aster’s face fell, his entire mouth shrinking as his eyebrows dropped.  But the disappointment slowly morphed, becoming timid, almost, with the same dripping glare of contempt.

“You put yourself together,” Aster stated, shrugging as he turned back to the counter.  “Well enough.”

Jack only smiled lightly.  Every morning for the past week, Aster was only a dim ray of sunshine.  By late afternoon, after a few hours left alone in his studio or helping customers in the shop, he cheered up, beaming as the solar eclipse passed.  And then by late evening…

Jack shivered slightly, drawing his hoodie around him protectively as he remembered the night before.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked, unheeded as he stepped up to one of the barstools next to the counter.  He folded his arms on the countertop, and laid his head to rest in the pillow made from his thick sleeves.

“What do you mean?” Aster asked, shifting along the kitchen from sink to stove and then to frying pan.  An eggshell cracked, and loud sizzling erupted from the skillet.

Jack smirked, “Is cooking like this a normal thing for you, then?  Do I get some of it?”

“Hmph,” Aster grunted, and even with his back turned, Jack could see the grin adorning the man’s face, the way his shoulders dropped lightly at the question.

In one fell motion, Aster swept the egg from the frying pan onto a plate.  Salt sifted from its shaker, with the grinding of pepper soon to follow.  He quickly took the fresh bread, now cooled down enough to touch, and sawed off a thick slice, lathering it with butter.  Awash with a warm, delicious scent that clung to his clothes and hands, he turned, brandishing the platter before him like a divine piece or art.

He set the plate down gently in front of Jack.  Startled, the younger man sat up abruptly.  His blue eyes darted up to meet Aster’s green.

The Australian stood awkwardly, now regarding the meal with an air of hesitance.  A small hope was carried in the curve of his neck.  Jack frowned a little, noting how Aster held his arm at his side, clutching it to him like a lifeline.  His fingers twitched hesitantly, in an unconscious rhythm that Jack began to beat on the countertop.

The hollow thumps echoed for a few seconds, before Aster suddenly snapped out of his trance.  His bright eyes seemed to shine with a new reverence, and Jack got the feeling that Aster was only just noticing their locked gazes.

They both looked away quickly, and Aster coughed, clearing his throat.

“It’s uh…” Aster began, trailing off, his voice shaking slightly.  His eyes flicked up again, before he continued, “I wanted to say sorry.  For last night,  I mean.  I… wasn’t myself, mate.”

It took Jack a moment to remember exactly what Aster was talking about.  Suddenly, the image of the bathroom, and the shower, and Aster entered his mind.  His eyes widened a fraction, and he fought the instinct to reel back in his chair.

“No!” Jack exclaimed.  He shook his head, leaning forward again, before he smiled back up at Aster.  “It’s fine.  Not like I’ve never seen another guy before, right?”

Aster seemed to puff up a moment, but he deflated and folded his arms against his chest.  He smirked.  Then his eyes darted to the plate in front of Jack.  “Are… you going to eat it?” he asked, half-joking with his tone.

“What? Oh, yeah!” Jack said, as a huge smile opened across his face.

He lifted his fork in his hands and cut off a small edge of the over-easy egg whites.  The salt bumped little ridges along it, with the pepper a dark brown against the stark white egg.

Jack made a show of sniffing it, checking it for anything out of the ordinary.  It smelled warm, fresh, with that salty tang on its surface.  Hesitantly, he stuck out a tongue, eyeing Aster mockingly.  The Australian only rolled his eyes, so Jack decided to go ahead and chomp down on the morsel.

The simple taste burst in his mouth, mixed with the pepper and salt on the egg.  It came apart easily with his teeth, and he quickly swallowed.

A low moan reverberated in his throat, as a smile spread across his face.  Grinning wildly, Jack bent over his plate, shoveling down the egg.  The yolk popped against the fork, spreading the yellow liquid across to the bread.

Aster stared at the boy, apparently stunned.  “I-I take it you like it?” he asked, as Jack began to mop up the excess yolk with his bread.

The young man beamed up at Aster.  “I love it!” he exclaimed.  He shoved a chunk of bread into his mouth, and choked out past the stuffed food, “Do you cook like this all the time?  Why didn’t you tell me you were this good?”

Aster shuffled on his feet, and Jack paused in his glorification to tilt his head.  “I’m not that good,” Aster muttered.  “Katherine taught me…”

“Can she cook this well, too?” Jack asked, his eyes widening further.

“Well… yeah…”  Aster seemed to cringe.  “From a box…”

Jack laughed, a light sound that broke through the morning haze and drowsiness with finality.  “You’re joking,” he stated bluntly, “And it’s not even nine o’clock yet.”  He felt himself calming down, the rich tastes fading in his mouth, burning lightly at the corners of his lips.  He took another chunk of bread to renew them.  “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

Aster opened his mouth to respond, a smirk already pulling at his lips, when the man stopped.  “Right,” he muttered, turning around back to the stove.

Jack paused, confusion entering his mind.  He bit another bite of the bread in his hands, the crumbs falling off his chin.  The moist bread cushioned his tongue, and he chewed slowly as he stared at Aster.  The Australian’s broad shoulders seemed hunched, suddenly tired again, compared to Jack, who was completely shaken free from his tired sleep.  The light shadows beneath his eyes blended with his freckles.  His bare feet kicked lightly on the legs of the barstool he sat upon, and his blue eyes bore into the back of Aster’s head.  The man remained silent.

“Are… you alright Aster?” Jack asked hesitantly, trying to bring back the joke from just a moment before.

Aster shrugged the question off.  “Yeah,” he responded, distant.

Jack took the final bite of his bread.  He dusted off his hands onto the plate as he swallowed, and then slid less-than-gracefully from the barstool.  He took the plate in his hands, and walked around the island counter.  After setting the dishes down in the sink, he crossed to Aster’s side.

The Australian cracked open another eggshell onto the frying pan.  The sizzling of the white and yellow substance spluttered from the stove, as Aster moved to the side to a cutting board.

“Why didn’t I get any chives?” Jack mockingly complained.

The steel knife paused in its clean slices of the onion.  Aster glanced up at the younger man, before continuing.

“I didn’t know you liked them.”

“I don’t.”

Jack folded his arms, leaning down to rest his head on the counter.  The sunlight filtered in through the window above the stove.  It cast sunlight onto Aster’s forehead, across his tanned cheeks.  His morning stubble was still unshaved.

A slight tug in his chest rendered Jack silent for a moment.  Again, his mind returned to the night before, seeing Aster in the bathroom.  He blinked, the memory disappearing again.

Aster’s eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, or just in thought; Jack couldn’t tell.  But concern seemed etched into Aster’s forehead, his mouth stern, even for the morning hours.  Jack frowned, tilting his head to better look up at the man.

When the green eyes flicked away from the cooking for a moment, Jack met them, and finally asked, “What’s up?”

Aster grunted, “What do you mean?”

“You’re not very happy,” Jack commented.  “Are you still mad about last night?  I told you it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Don’t you have to get to work?” Aster replied, accompanied with another grunt.

“Mm, no.”

Aster scooped the sliced vegetables into the pan, where they sank into the shallow yellow egg mixture.  The omelet bubbled, ready to be folded.  Quickly sprinkling a handful of shredded cheese into the pan, Aster took the blackened spatula in hand.

“What you mean no?” he asked with a frown on his face.

The egg flopped back down onto the pan, and Jack studied it absent-mindedly as Aster prodded it.

“Manny gave me the day off,” he stated simply.  His shoulders slumped down a little, the roughened fabric of his hoodie brushing by his ear.

Aster suddenly chuckled, startling Jack back into a bright-eyed curiosity.  “You know Manny personally?” the man asked.

“Well, besides him being my boss…” Jack began, a smirk tugging at his lips, “I probably know him a lot better than you.”  A hint of spite crept its way into his voice, as he tried to shut out his memories again.

“I doubt that, mate,” Aster quipped.  “I worked with him for six bloody months for different art projects.”  His brows furrowed again, as he glanced over at Jack.  “How d’you know him?”

“He’s an old family friend,” Jack answered.  At the mention of Manny, the smile began to fade from his lips.  An image of brown eyes, glittering with joy, and Manny’s beaming face filled his mind.

Jack shook his head fervently, dispelling the image from his mind.  Sweat beaded at his brow, and his lips shook minutely.  He noticed these things, his attention drawn towards them as he felt his vision begin to black.  Frigid cold brushed against his arms, a sopping wet mess of fear striking him in the face.  He shivered, blinking once, and suddenly the kitchen was gone.

Bright blue, shining in the sunlight as it filtered through the trees, broke against his irises.  The sounds of laughter scraped metal against the earth.  A tantalizing aroma, North’s outdoor cooking, swept through the branches.  The house was in sight.  She watched them as they walked the few yards into the woods.  When he looked back, he saw her hands tighten on the railing, her knuckles whitening a shade paler.  Her brown eyes bulged at the sight of Jack, the joyful grin melting away like running water.

He set a foot past the threshold into the forest.

She screamed.

“JACK!” Aster’s voice rang out.

Jack gasped, staring at the wood floor.  The surface of the warped grain was tilted at and odd angle, his head hanging loosely.  His white hair swept into his face, no longer the deep brown of hers.

Aster clutched onto his shoulder, one arm wrapped across his chest, and the other steadying him by the hip, catching him as he fell.  The man’s breath brushed over Jack’s ear, and another shudder ran through his body.

“Jack?” Aster repeated, calmer now, cautious.

The firm arms around him handled him gently, as Aster brought him back to standing tall.  Jack, still dizzy, fell into the man’s chest.  A steady heartbeat bumped against his cheek.  Aster brought a hand up to cradle Jack’s head, running his fingers through the boy’s head.

The contact sent a shock through Jack’s spine, and he flinched.  “I’m fine,” he demanded, attempting to push away.

Aster pulled him back softly.  “Shh,” he whispered, breathing through his teeth.

He ran his hand through Jack’s hair again, as the boy’s chest beat quickly with rapid breaths.  His other hand moved to Jack’s back, rubbing gently against the fabric of the blue hoodie.  The cloth felt rougher now, the threads coarser against his bare skin underneath.  Aster tucked Jack’s head under his chin, cooing soft whispers of quiet.

Eventually, Jack’s breath began to slow, and Aster released him.

Stunned, Jack only stared at the tall Australian as the man turned back to the stove to flip the dial off.  He tilted the steaming omelet onto a plate, and walked about the counter to take a seat.  He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully.

Suddenly, he pointed his fork at Jack.  “So, if you’re not going to work,” he started, “Then what are you doing?”

It took Jack a moment to reply.  He blinked once, before his mind caught up to him.  He blurted, “North’s leaving for Russia today.  I have to go and say goodbye.”

Aster nodded, and went back to eating.  The silence stretched out between them, and Jack found his toes twiddling over each other on the floor.

After a few long moment of silence, Jack finally spoke up, “Do you want to come?”

“Hmm?” Aster hummed, as if snapping out of another thought.  His eyes widened to stare at Jack blankly, not entirely present.  “Oh, no, I don’t know him that well.  I’d just be a burden there.”  He ducked back to his plate.

A sly thought crept into Jack’s mind.  “Oh, come on,” he teased, smiling again.  He approached the counter leisurely.  “He won’t mind.”  Jack leaned over the counter, resting his elbows on the granite surface.  He continued, “Besides, North would want to at least meet the man that his nephew was staying with.  Please?”  He tilted his head with the last word, eyeing Aster pitifully through his bangs.

The Australian seemed to give the proposition another thought.

“No,” he answered simply.

He stood up, finished with his small meal, and scooped up the plate to bring it to the sink.

“Oh, _come on!_ Aster,” Jack protested, whipping himself around to face the man as he walked.  “It’ll be quick!  It’s just to help him pack a few, last-minute things into his truck, and send him off to the airport.  We need some help!”  When Aster didn’t respond, turning on the faucet, Jack pulled his last resort card.

“Tooth will be there.”

That gave the man some pause.  Jack smirked, even as a hint of doubt crept up on him.  The faucet turned off abruptly, and Aster turned to face Jack.

“Alright,” he replied.  “How’re you getting there?”

“Tooth’s driving,” Jack answered casually.

Aster grinned.  “I’m not riding in anything that crazy sheila is driving.”

Jack couldn’t help the laugh that burst from his throat.  “Please?  She’s not that bad!”

Drying his hands thoughtfully on the dishrag, the Australian took a moment to respond.  Finally, he proposed, “How about this: I’ll meet you there later.”

“Do you have a ride?”

The man set the rag down on the edge of the sink.  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” he answered, before walking away.

Jack’s gaze trailed after him appreciatively, eyeing the way his feet trailed on the carpet in that groggy mood that accompanied morning.  The light fell haphazardly across Aster’s face, painting his skin with bright bronze across the dark grey stubble on his cheek.  It struck Jack then just how many years Aster accumulated; he’d said he was thirty, but he looked older.

There was something else about him, unable to be placed, something in the way he fell silent when he cooked, and how he took time to be alone, and was okay with quiet, but liked to talk, and in the way he laughed about Tooth, and played with Kailash.  Something… younger.

Jack didn’t come out of his diverted stupor until the sliding door to Aster’s bedroom clicked into place.

* * *

 

The loud rumble of the bike’s engine cut off abruptly, taking with it the shaking of the ground and the ringing in Jack’s ears.  The burnt smell of motor oil lingered in the air, to be dispersed by the gentle breeze.

“You have a _motorcycle?_ ” Jack exclaimed, feet glued to the ground and jaw hanging open as he stood on the curb.

Aster pulled the helmet off of his head, and he shook his short hair slightly, for no effect whatsoever.  He flashed a bright grin up at Jack, before leaning forward onto his handlebars.

“You like it, mate?”

Before Jack could reply, Tooth burst out of the house behind him, running down the front walk.

“Aster!” she cried, “You came!”

She stopped by Jack’s side on the curb, her face broken into a wide smile.  Her thick brown ropes of hair were flung clumsily over her shoulders, her feather earring swinging back and forth.

She raised a hand to brush her long bangs behind her ear, and cried, “You brought your bike!  How far back in the storage did you have to dig to find that thing?”

“A couple hours,” the Aussie quipped.

Smirking, the man dismounted from his ride, black leather shoes striking the asphalt with a loud scuff.  He crossed over to the two, stepping up to embrace Tooth in a hug.

“How’re you, Tooth?” he asked, squeezing her tight before releasing her.

Tooth laughed, “I’m great!  We’re just helping North get some furniture out to be shipped over to Russia!  Come on, we need some help!”

And with that, she bounced off back into the house.

Jack chuckled, stepping up next to Aster.  “That’s Tooth for you; never standing still.”

Aster stared off after the girl.  Unconsciously, he raised a hand to brush at his neck.  “Yeah,” he breathed, “I remember.”

The words gave Jack pause, and he looked up at the man curiously.  Suddenly, an edge of a biting fear began to nick at his chest, and he bit his lip to keep from wincing.  He pushed the envy down, grabbing the strap of his messenger bag as Aster stared on.

“Living with her was hell, that’s for sure,” the man finished.  He looked over at Jack, and then laughed, cackling out breaths of humor.  His hand came down from his neck to clap Jack on the shoulder.  “Come on, mate, let’s go.”

Jack hesitated, before nodding.  He looked up at the man, the blade in his chest sheathing away.  A smile spread slowly across his face, and he followed up the walk after Aster.  His bag dropped back to his side again.

They entered into the foyer, to the sight of North’s large backside.  The Russian wore his usual black undershirt and suspenders, his white mane of hair pouring from his head over his shoulders.  He seemed to be hefting the couch before him.

“Uh, North?” Jack asked, tapping the large man on his thick shoulder.

The man whipped around suddenly, a large grin already plastered across his face. He held out his arms, and scooped Jack up into a bone-crushing hug.

“Jack!” he exclaimed, “You are just in time!  I saw you waiting, why didn’t you come in with Tooth?”

“I was – waiting – for Aster,” Jack choked out, and the man set Jack down on solid ground.

“Who is this?” North asked, turning to the Australian.

He leaned close to the man’s face, examining every detail.  Aster recoiled back, scrunching up his nose as North startled him.

“Uh, Jack?” the man said as he was cornered, turning his eyes to his only companion.

Jack almost laughed, but stopped himself at the helpless look on Aster’s face.  He intervened, “North!  This is Aster, my new roommate.  I live with him on the other side of town.”

The large Russian gave the man another once-over.  “You take good care of Jack, yes?”

Aster backed even further into the wall, having to look up at North.  His eyes seemed to open wide, pitifully green and very intimidated.  “Y-yes, sir, I promise,” the Australian stammered.

North let another moment pass, before he huffed his approval.  A broad smile broke through his stern façade, and he held a hand out to Aster.  “It is nice to finally meet you, Aster.  Tooth has told me much about you and your art.  Comforting to put a face to the name.  Come, help me move the couch, yes?”

Hesitating for just a moment, Aster took North’s hand firmly.  He smiled back, his white teeth poking out from behind his lips.  “Right, mate,” he replied evenly.

Jack watched them with an amused smirk on his face.  As they walked over to the couch dominating the narrow hallway, Jack slipped around them to the stairs.  He sat down about halfway up, looking over the hand-carved railing at the two men as they prepared to lift the couch.

“We lift on three,” North demanded.  “Three!”

Aster yelped as the couch tipped in his direction, the wooden feet scuffing on the floor.  A mirthful laugh bubbled in Jack’s throat, and he threw his head back.  His satchel slapped gently against the rug draped over the stairs, but he ignored it in his glee.

The Australian shot a glare up at Jack.  “Oi, mate, why don’t you come down here and help us?”

“No, thank you!” Jack cheekily replied, smirking when the man only huffed.

He and North turned back to lifting the couch.  Just as they began to maneuver it through the door, Jack felt another body flop down next to him.  He didn’t have to look to know who sat there.

Tooth leaned against his shoulder, and Jack allowed himself a side-glance at the young woman.  A small smile adorned her lips as she looked down at the two.  She rested her head on her bangle-covered arm, pulling her knees up to her chest.  Her hair fell into Jack’s face, and he sneezed, another laugh echoing through the thick dark ropes.

She looked over, and met Jack’s gaze, before she chuckled at the younger man’s startled expression.  But she quickly settled down again, the smile fading and her teeth hiding back in her mouth.

“I was just upstairs.  It’s so weird, with everything gone,” she sighed, leaning back against him.  She nodded in Aster’s direction, her long hair bobbing gently.  “He just jumped right in, didn’t he?  He used to do that a lot.  You’ll be good for him, Jack.”

Jack nearly laughed, but stopped at the sad gaze he found in Tooth’s eyes.  “What about me?” he asked.  He raised a hand, and, after a moment, placed it around Tooth’s shoulder, hugging her close.

The woman started a little at the contact, wide dark eyes sweeping up past her bangs to gaze at Jack.  Amazement shone in them, but he looked away, as Aster and North finally pushed the couch out of the door.

The shock passed, while Jack still kept tension in his shoulders, and Tooth relaxed into his grip.

“You’ll be good for each other,” she amended, before tucking her head into Jack’s neck.  She gave him a small kiss below his ear before she stood up.

“I have to go to school,” she explained, when Jack looked up at her in confusion.

“Weren’t you going to give me a ride?”

“North said he’d take you.”  Tooth smiled gently, even as she began to walk down the stairs.

Just then, said Russian walked into the hallway, nearly running into Tooth.

“Oh, I am sorry,” North exclaimed, “Where are you going?”

“I have to leave for school now, North,” Tooth repeated.  She gave the man a great hug before ducking behind him.  “You’re taking Jack along after, right?”

“Of course!” the man replied.  He shooed the girl out, “Go on; don’t be late!”

Tooth laughed and then left.  A moment after, Aster entered looking behind himself curiously.

“Where’s Tooth going?”

“School,” Jack replied from the steps.  He stood, and made his way down.  He stopped before the two men, both towering over him.  Torn, Jack remained where he stood, but turned to North.  He asked, “You almost done?”

“Ah, yes.  We still must get the table, and then we can leave.  You can wait in the car, Jack,” North told him, folding his arms gruffly, his rosy cheeks still smiling warmly from behind his bushy facial hair.

“You know there is such thing as shipping, right North?” Jack teased, as he made his way to the door.

“Bah,” the man grunted, “They will break everything.”

Jack laughed, but was cut off by Aster.  The Australian chuckled loudly, his voice filling the echoing foyer.  The younger man found himself staring at Aster, his voice caught.

“R-right,” Jack managed to answer, “I’ll be in the truck.  Excuse me.”

He pushed past Aster, making his way out the door.

The late spring air met him, a cool breeze sweeping across the house.  Hurriedly, Jack made his way down the walk to the driveway.  On either side of the front walk, the grass grew haphazardly, threatening to overtake the cement.  Jack kept his eyes on his feet.

North’s blaring red truck sat idle in the driveway, the crimson metal glinting in the sunlight.  Jack smiled fondly at it, and took the handle on the passenger side.  It opened with a cushioned click.

He paused.

Jack looked back at the house.  He remembered North building those rafters above the front porch, that balcony on the side.  The worn wood, miraculously uneaten by termites, still held under the weight of the peaked roof.  The lights were out in the attic, where North liked to work and handle finances.  An extended section on the second story, hanging precariously above the front door held the library, now emptied of North’s books.

And the forest – Jack could see the glint of the pond from where he stood.

He turned away, feeling a burn in his head, and an ache in his chest.  The car door slammed behind him.

After a few moments of propping his feet up on the dashboard, fiddling with the worn glove compartment, and inspecting the familiar vehicle, he heard North’s struggling grunts as he made his way down the walk, the kitchen table suspended between himself and Aster.  Jack finally tugged his thoughts into motion, looking at them and feeling his headache fade.

The entire truck shook as the table was hefted into the bed.  Jack almost laughed as the seat shook beneath him and he looked back to see the two men.  The couch blocked his view out of the rearview window.  Frowning, Jack climbed back over the seats.

Suddenly, he stopped.  A string of words reached him.

“…he pass out often?” Aster was asking.

He heard North’s noncommittal grunt, before the man answered back, “Occasionally.  It’s… flashbacks, Sandy says.  I do not try to understand.  It is… hard.  For both of us.  How did you handle it?”

“I just, I don’t know, I caught him before he fell.  And I made sure he was okay, northing much.  Tried calming him down.”

A stretch of silence passed between them, and Jack held his breath, waiting.

“Hey, North,” Aster’s voice sounded again.  “What happened?  To him, I mean?”

When North spoke, it sounded flat, undetached.  “You did right thing, taking him in.  Thank you.”

Footsteps scuffed against the driveway, and Aster raised his voice, “Hey, mate, that didn’t answer my question!”

The driver door was yanked open, and North stuck his head into the truck.  He beamed back at Jack, his white teeth glittering.

“Change of plans, Jack!” he exclaimed.

“What?” Jack asked, frozen in his climb over the seats.

“I am late for flight.  You ride with Aster to school, yes?”

“…What?” Jack repeated, still dumfounded.

“What?” Aster asked, his voice calling from behind North.  He didn’t sound irritated, only surprised.

“Yes!  This works out for all of us!  I’m sorry, Jack, but I must leave.  Come out, now!” North demanded, gesturing to Jack.

The younger man complied, gathering his bag in his hands as he got out of the truck.  He stood firmly on the solid ground, as North got into the truck.  The door closed suddenly behind him.

“Farewell!  I will see you in a few months, yes Jack?” North asked, as he started the engine up.

“North, wait-!”

But he was already backing out of the driveway, and then speeding down the street.

Jack stood.  His arm was extended slightly, his mouth still open, and his blue eyes wide.  His mind was blank, and his chest empty.  The bag hung loosely at his side.

Then a hand clapped down gently onto his shoulder, bringing him back into the present.

“He’ll be alright,” Aster reassured him.  “Don’t know how he’s planning on getting that furniture on the plane, but he’ll be alright.”

He let his hand fall, before he nodded.

“Hey,” Aster reprimanded him, patting him again on the back.  “You’ll see him in a few months.  Cheer up, mate.”

The Australian knelt down before Jack, actually below him for once.  His green eyes looked up into Jack’s face, searching the other’s expression.

“You’ll have me for that time, right Jackie?”

Something about those words, and Jack couldn’t help the small flutter in his chest.  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he grinned.

“Yeah,” he answered.

He looked into Aster’s eyes, and found kindness.

“There you go,” Aster grinned.  His stubbed face stretched with the warm smile, and he stood.

“Now, how do you feel about riding a motorcycle?”

* * *

 

_“Well, everything seems to be working out well.”_

“I guess it is.”

_“You’re taking this very easily, Jack.”_

“Well, I’ve had help.”

_“From whom?”_

“…Aster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _so_ sorry for the long wait! School started up, and then... Tumblr. Let's blame Tumblr.
> 
> At least it's a long chapter? (Even if the ending was... mediocre.)  
> As you can tell, the fic is beginning to take a turn for the more backstory-related topics. Still hoping I get everything accurate. If I don't someone please tell me. :)
> 
> Now, regarding the next chapter: It will not be up for a little bit. Why? Because I am entering sweetfrost and disobedient's RoTG 1800s Steampunk AU contest! I'm planning an eight-chapter fic, and I have a month to write it! :D So this is going to be fun.
> 
> Watch me fail.
> 
> But really, you all should enter it: sweetfrost-rotg-contest is the tumblr URL. It's not just writing: it's anything! :3 Please enter, because I love steampunk and I want to read _more of it._
> 
> Did I mention that my entry will have Jackrabbit? So you won't be completely deprived. XD
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading that 8000+ word wall of text! I hope you liked it! :3 (Again, sorry for the wait. And for the length. I actually wanted to fit more it, but it was getting really long...)
> 
> Comments are always loved! :3  
> ~Renoku


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three years since the funeral, and Jack is losing it.

_“It’s the anniversary, Jack.”_

“Of the funeral.  Yeah, I know.”

_“Are you… okay?”_

“You always ask that.  I think I’m doing fine.”

_“Are you sure?”_

“Of course, Aster was there.”

“ _…Of course._ ”

* * *

 

He stared blankly ahead, not really seeing the picture frame in front of him.  A numbness of cold lingered in his eyes, dull and frozen by the ice that glazed over his vision.  Around him the apartment was quiet.  It was almost silent if not for the faucet leaking again - the water dripping heavily into the basin - and the continuous drone of air through the vents.

He'd seen the picture far too many times, spent hours lying in his bed gazing at its glassy surface until the sun reflected the light into his eyes.  When that had happened, he'd only moved to close the blinds, before settling back down to stare at the darkened faces beaming out at him in a petrified happiness.

At this point he didn't have to look at it to see their white smiles grinning out from behind the glass.  He didn't have to see their bright brown eyes, their cheeks reddened by the cold, or the way she held her by the waist, trying to keep her little girl from falling on the ice.  He'd memorized every detail of the image.  Every flaw on their perfect faces, every fluttering leaf in the background, and every single beam of sunlight that reflected into the lens of the camera was embedded into his mind, unable to be removed even by death.

Jack stared blankly ahead.

The slam of the apartment door echoed in the back of his mind, like a stone falling in a pond; rippling the edges, but never bothering those standing on the shore.

He heard Aster curse loudly, before exclaiming, "Jack!  You've been living here for over a month, mate.  Do you think you might be able to actually unpack everything?"

The words broke through the ice surrounding his mind.  He grit his teeth, and his hands tightened on his knees, his arms trembling minutely.  Behind his eyes he felt the burn beginning, and he wedged his tongue in his cheek, trying to push it all back.

His body became louder, as if amplified under water.  He could hear the sweat wetting his fingers, squeezing as his nails dug into his palms.  On his legs his pants rustled with the pressure of his hands, and his shirt shifted with his breathing.  His blood pounded in his ears.  A heartbeat thumped heavily in his chest, beating against his ribs to try and wedge itself between his bones, like a shard of ice jammed into his heart.

He heard Aster enter the living room.  The clatter of keys on the ground, the drop of the grocery bags on the floor; Jack heard the bag of rice hit the wood like a bomb, every grain scattering out within its confinements like a ricochet.  The apples, they rolled away as loud as marbles, slowly drawing out a drone that faded away.  Aster's feet thudded against the wood, splitting the floor with the boom of cracking ice.  As everything began to slow, Jack heard the pond break open, and he turned to see Aster running through the water to his side.

But it was too late.  Jack’s head burst with air, throbbing through his skull with a hammering pain.  And as his vision went black, he saw the bubbles drift slowly towards the surface of the lake, with the light of the moon pouring through the water.

* * *

 

Everything blurred in the morning sunlight, as if a hazy clear fog had fallen over the hilltop.  Birds fluttered overhead, twittering their bright songs from the tree line in the distance.  Beneath Jack’s feet – bare feet, for some reason – the grass itched at his toes, tickling his heels with the chill of frost still lingering in the late spring.  From above, the sun warmed his brown hair.  Absently, he reached a hand up to pull at his bangs, drawing them down to cover his eyes.  A breeze rushed past through the fog, sweeping his hair back up again.

The day was perfect for a funeral.

At the top of the hill, the itching grass swayed lightly around the patch of rugged dirt in the ground.  The brown earth faced the sky, looking up into the heavens.

But Jack didn't follow its gaze, nor did he look at his feet.  He stared straight ahead, at the stone standing tall from the ground.  In his mind he knew the name written on the grave, but didn't bother seeing it in this vision.

 “She loved this town so much.”

“I remember she helped me when…”

“…the rec center, she was there, remember?”

“Oh, Manny, imagine how devastated he must be.”

“ _What about the children?_ ”

Silence fell upon the voices surrounding Jack’s mind.  He only stared again, quiet, at the grave, and the fog blurred the edges of the rugged stone.  Jack’s dull eyes looked through it, unfocused, as he listened.  In the haze of the vision, he strained to hear the reply.

“What about the children?”

With a shock, Jack realized that he’d asked the question.  The echo of the words lingered in his throat, and they rippled out from him, stirring the particles of his dream.  His hair fell over his eyes again, but he let it as he hands remained stiff at his sides.

“The children?” one of the voices asked, incredulous, “What of them?”

The clamor roared to life:

“The children?”

“They’re the reason she’s gone!”

“Don’t blame the daughter; she had nothing to do with it!”

“It’s the son, I tell you!  The boy’s fault!”

“You know, I knew he was a trouble maker, from the very start.  See where it led him?”

“You can’t trust him.  He had that odd manner didn’t he?  Wanted to dye his hair?  Meet another boy?”

“Don’t judge him; with a father like the one he had–”

“It’s no wonder…”

“And the daughter, the poor girl!”

“Blame the boy, you know it’s his fault.”

“It’s his fault.”

“It’s his fault!”

“It’s all his fault, everything to do with it is his fault!”

“ _IT’S NOT MY FAULT!_ ”

With an agony that raged from his throat, Jack fell to his knees.  Around him, the dream fell silent once again.  The loosened particles drifted away from him, the haze surrounding the hilltop dissipating into shadows.  Everything became darkness, save for Jack, and the grave.

His breath came ragged.  In his chest his heart burned, and he raised a hand to clutch at the cloth of his shirt.  All his energy left him.  He dropped, propping himself up on the cutting grass with his free hand.

“It’s not my fault,” he repeated, trying desperately to remember the words Sandy had said.  “It’s not my fault.”

Suddenly a loud crack shot into the air.  Jack snapped his head up to stare at the grave.  As he watched, the dirt began to fall away.  It crumbled, disappearing into the earth to the underworld below.  With a horrified shock, Jack stared at the dark gaping maw in the ground.  It gnashed its earthen teeth and its jagged stone fangs at the surface, as it rumbled again with a growl to shake the world.  It opened up its crevice, creating a hole in the hill.

When it stopped, Jack only stared for a moment longer.  Then, hesitantly, he crawled forward.  Around him the shadows of his dream seemed to stir, closing in a tight circle.  The hazy fog rolled out from the edge of his vision, pouring past him into the earth.

Jack looked over the edge of the grave.  Beneath, all he saw was darkness.  His blue eyes searched the pit, but after a while, he could only sit back in confusion.

“ _Jack…_ ”

The young man snapped up.  He practically through himself away from the grave, but the black wall of shadows met him, pushing him back to the pit.

“ _Jack… where are you… Jack?”_

He struggled against the fog, only to be met with another push.  The shadows rolled closer, wrapping around the tombstone and framing the empty grave.

“ _Jack… please, Jack, I’m tired.  I want to wake up Jack.  I want to wake up!”_

“No!” Jack exclaimed, digging his heels into the ground.  He shoved hard against the darkness, and cried, “No!  It’s just a dream!”

“ _Jack!  Please wake me up!  I’m tired!  I don’t want to sleep anymore!”_

“No!  Go away!” Jack shouted.

With a final push, the shadows shoved him over the edge, and the terrifying maw swallowed him into the earth.  Jack tumbled through the dark, too far from the edges to grab hold, falling through the empty space.  His stomach flipped through his body, carrying him with its weight.  A startled yell ripped from his throat, as the wind that fought to carry him only tore at his frame.

At the bottom of the pit he plunged into a large pool of icy water.  He sank beneath the surface, his eyes screwed shut as the cold liquid stung him with thousands of needles all along his body.  Jack screamed in silent agony, the bubbles rising from his throat to burst at the top.  He thrashed about, until his hand met the walls of the grave.

He dug his fingers into the earth, clawing back to the surface.  His head broke through the water, and he gasped for breath he didn’t need.  Panicking, he splashed at the water, struggling to stay afloat.  His hair plastered his forehead, blinding him as it covered his eyes.  Frantically, he brushed it away, only to freeze.

His hair was white, as bright as the moonlight.  It seemed to glow, even down here.

As the water settled, Jack suddenly noticed the quiet.  He looked around, only seeing the walls of the grave dimly lit around him.  Fearful and desperate, he turned his gaze upward.  High above him, seemingly miles away, a speck of light, the light of the hazy sky flickered weakly down through the shaft.

The shadows began to blot even that out.

Something fell into the grave, splashing down in the water next to Jack.  A spray of ice splattered across his face, and Jack hunched against the wall, shielding himself.  His feet kicked furiously beneath him to tread water.

The next object that fell landed on him.  Dirt crumbled on Jack’s snow-white hair, staining it brown and black.  As it fell into his eyes, Jack stopped kicking.  He stared curiously at the earth hanging from his bangs, before another handful crashed into the pool, just barely missing his head.

He yelped, splashing away from the falling dirt.

More began to crumble around him, tumbling through the shaft into the pool below.  Handful after handful of dirt was thrown into the grave.  Jack yelled through it, screaming incoherently as he pounded at the walls.  When they didn’t give he kicked against them to try the other side, furiously clawing at the earthen cell.

Panic filled his mind.  He couldn’t think, couldn’t feel the rocks as they cut his face and dug into his fingers.  In his chest his heart pounded painfully, ready to burst out of fear.  His legs were numb from the water, the ice seeping into his jacket, beginning to weigh him down.  Dirt splashed down around him, blinding him as he strived frantically for the light.

Then the voices returned.

“Serves him right,” muttered a woman, the voice drifting down through the darkness.

“A trouble maker is what he is.”

“I can’t believe it, coming from a mother like that…”

“Now, we all knew he’d be more like the father.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not his fault!”

A sudden burst of guilt bubbled in Jack’s throat, and he threw back his head to cry, “It wasn’t my fault!  It wasn’t my fault, I swear!  It wasn’t my fau–”

His screams were cut off by a clod of dirt in his mouth.  The earth filled his nostrils, and he choked.  He retched, trying to expel the poison from his throat, but it stuck, suffocating him.

Jack’s fingers grasped at his neck, trying desperately to breathe.  His kicks became uneven, as more dirt splashed around him.  He began to sink.

He cried out, tears escaping from his eyes now, only to choke again.  A sob burst from his lungs, catching on the darkness in his mouth.  It weighed on his tongue, silencing him.  The waves lapped at his cheeks now, mingling with the salt that wet his skin.

The ice pricked his eyelashes, freezing them.  Jack closed his eyes, fingers tight around his throat now.  Another handful of dirt crumbled across his face, and Jack was submerged beneath the water.

Around him he heard the dull washes of dirt falling in the water.  He kept his eyes screwed shut, not seeing the ocean around him.  The water fell below him into nothingness, as the dirt drifted into the abyss.

_“Jack… It’s time to wake up now, Jack…”_

Bubbles emerged through the shadows in Jack’s lungs as he screamed in panic.  Dead fear filled his chest, burning against the ice, dragging him only deeper.  The mall cages of air floated away from him, to the heavens, while Jack’s legs refused to fight any longer.

_“Jack… do you want to play at all?  Jack?  Big brother?”_

The dream was a nightmare.  Jack tried desperately to fight, but his hands were frozen around his throat, his eyes sewed by the horror of what he feared to see.  His legs kicked against the water, finding nothing to push against.  His bare toes were dead with numbness from the cold.

The darkness began to fill his mind as well.

But through the shadows, Jack heard it.

“Jack!  Wake up, Jack!”

Jack’s head dropped in the water, his chin falling to his chest.

“Jack!  Jackie, please wake up!”

The last spark in his mind was of Aster.

* * *

He shot up in the bed, startling the worried Australian.

“Jack!” Aster exclaimed, immediately grabbing Jack’s shoulders.  “Jackie, you’re awake!”

The younger man blinked spots from his vision, his dream still lining the edges of his sight as he gazed around his bedroom.  Aster sat on the edge of his mattress, concern etched in his face.  The door to the living room was open.  Papers were scattered across the floor, and Jack saw an apple left on the wooden ground.

“I – I,” he stuttered out, “How… how long have I been out?”

“About an hour,” Aster replied.  He tried to push Jack back down on the bed, but Jack stopped him.  “Jackie, you need rest.”

Jack shook his head, and shoved Aster’s hands from his shoulders.  “That’s the last thing I need,” he muttered under his breath.  “I’m fine.”  He made to get up from the bed.

“But–” Aster began to protest, his hands uselessly extended towards the man.

Jack let the sheets fall off of him, and then paused.  “Where’s my shirt?”

Aster withdrew his hands to himself, and said, “You were sweating, so I took it off.”  He gestured vaguely behind him.

Jack peered around the man’s shoulder to see the crumpled blue fabric on the ground.  He frowned, and then stood up.  His knees shook slightly, but he crossed over to pick up the jacket from the ground.  The plush cloth stuck to his skin when he pulled it over his head, the cold sweat still lingering on his back.  Jack shivered slightly, and drew the hood over his white hair.

The light hurt his eyes.  He lifted his arms high, feeling the strain in his back.  His spine popped lightly, and he groaned lightly at the sensation, picking himself up to his toes.

He felt Aster’s eyes staring at his back as he stretched, or maybe he was only hopeful.  Either way, he ignored the man, and made his way to the bathroom.

Aster stood from his perch on the bed.  “Jack?  What are you doing, mate?” he asked, trailing after the younger man, “You need rest, I told you–”

“And I told you: I’m fine!” Jack snapped, a little harsher than he’d meant.

He approached his medicine cabinet and opened the door with the hollow click of the magnet.  A single bottle of pills sat among the toothpaste and other toiletries.  He took the orange cup in his hands, popping it open and spilling two tablets into his palm.

“Jack, what are those?” Aster asked.

Jack didn’t answer, instead pouring the pills into his mouth and bending down to take a swig of water from the tap.  A dribble of it splashed onto his chin, and he wiped it off with an annoyed huff.

“Jack?” Aster repeated.

The young man sighed.  He placed his hands on the edge of the counter, avoiding Aster’s gaze.  His shoulders tensed, and he grit his teeth.  It was the last thing he wanted to admit, but he had no other choice.  Not on this day.

“They’re for the nightmares,” Jack muttered.  He spun around to face Aster, and suddenly a smile was plastered across his face.  “Haven’t had one that bad in a while.”  He chuckled weakly, “I guess I’d gotten a little too hopeful.”

When his vision focused, he saw Aster.

The man stood, lost in the bathroom.  At his sides he clutched his fingers into fists.  His expression was unreadable.  The corners of his mouth fell slack, almost aghast, and his eyes were wet.  But they stared at Jack, unblinking, something implacable in their green depths.  His gaze remained locked with the younger man.

Jack broke the contact, looking down at the floor.

He didn’t hear the man approach him, and when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his form he froze.  Aster pulled him close, burying his nose into Jack’s white hair, gripping the boy tightly to his chest.  Pressed up against his heartbeat, Jack listened, the dull throbbing snapping him out of his shock.  Slowly, he raised his arms, and brought his hands behind Aster’s back, around the man’s waist.

Aster’s grip was firm, and warm among the cold tile walls of the bathroom.  Jack only saw the green fabric of Aster’s shirt, however, and felt the man’s breath stir his hair.  Against his back, Aster’s thumb rubbed gently into Jack’s shoulder, allowing the boy to relax into the embrace.

Aster a moment, Aster released a long, loud huff that brushed across Jack’s head.  It tickled, and Jack chuckled lightly into Aster’s shirt.  Aster raised his head to plant his chin in Jack’s hair before releasing him.  He held Jack at an arm’s distance, his green eyes searching Jack’s face.

Jack looked up, a glimmer of hope in his blue gaze.

“Let’s talk about it,” Aster murmured.  It wasn’t a request.

Sighing, Jack lowered his gaze again, and replied with a withdrawn nod of his head.  Satisfied, Aster took Jack’s wrist in his hand.  They made their way through Jack’s bedroom back out to the living room.

“I didn’t move anything,” Aster said.  “Wasn’t sure what you wanted to do with it all.”

Jack didn’t answer, gazing at the picture left on the floor.  The light from the window fell across it, tinting the glass white.  It looked alone on the carpet, isolated from the rest of the room.

Aster sat down on the couch, and gestured for Jack to join him.  Instead, the boy stood awkwardly to the side.  He hugged his arm to his side.  The Australian seemed to acknowledge this, and refrained from demanding again.

He clapped his hands in front of him.  Jack didn’t speak.

After a few moments of strained silence, Aster finally asked, “So…?”

“So...” Jack echoed.  Another awkward pause grew between them.  Jack’s eyes darted around the room, searching for some way out.  His eyes landed on the picture frame.  Immediately, his shoulders fell, and he turned away.  “You know what?  I’ve got a class today.”

As Jack began to walk away, Aster leapt up.  “Jack, what–?”

“Listen,” Jack interrupted, glancing back over his shoulder.  “I know you want to know what’s wrong with me, and I get that.  But I just… I can’t.  Not today.”

“Why not today?” Aster demanded.  He spread his arms, trying to catch Jack’s eye again, desperate.  “Jack, I need to know, or–”

“Or what?” Jack snapped.  He narrowed his eyes, and bent down to pick up the strap of his bag leaning against the wall.  “You’ll kick me out?”

“Of course not!” Aster shouted, a little too quickly.

Jack whipped around, to see the man with his hands clamped over his mouth.  At the sight, the younger man huffed, and walked to the closet to get his sneakers, kicking them on roughly.  His hand tightened on the strap of his satchel, holding it close.  Behind his eyes he felt the beginning burn of tears, and fought them back.

“Jack,” Aster began.

“What?” came the short reply.

Aster answered softly, “I want to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Jack–”

“It was her funeral!” Jack suddenly shouted.  “You want to know what today is about?  That’s it.  That’s all it is.  So I freaked out a little, big deal!  It happens every year, no need to suddenly start worrying about me!”

Jack’s nails dug into his palms, sweat collecting in his closed fists.  Stunned, Aster only stared at the boy, mouth slightly open.

After another moment, Aster stammered, “W-who?”

Jack rolled his eyes, and turned away, heading towards the door.  He stalked down the hallway, and then made his way down the metal staircase.

Aster caught up with him as he passed under the shop’s register desk.

“Jack!” the man shouted, “Whose funeral?”

“My mother’s.”

By the time Jack had reached the front step, Aster had caught up and grabbed his arm.

“Jack.”

“I’m serious, Aster, I have to go to Kozmotis’ class today.”

“Jack.”

“Let me go, you stupid Kangaroo!”

“Jack!”

“What?” Jack yelled, whipping his arm out of Aster’s grip.

The man nodded to the side of the road, where his motorcycle gleamed in the afternoon sun.  “Do you want a ride?”

Aster started his decent to the sidewalk, glancing over his shoulder.

All the anger left Jack’s mouth, and he felt his heart beating in his chest again.  In a stunned quiet, he followed Aster obediently.  The air rushed past his ear, ruffling his white hair.  His bangs fell into his face, and he brushed them away absently.  The sound of his shoes against the pavement reached his ears, slapping lightly against the ground.

Everything was familiar; the same as it was yesterday, and the day before.  Nothing had changed, except for the strange calm that settled Jack’s mind.

His blue eyes slowly scoped the street, at the sunlight and the blue sky above them.  The way the walls peeled with yellow paint, and the shingles on the roofs looked as if they were about to fall off, hanging over the edge.  The warm smell of baking dough wafted from Katherine’s workshop.  It filled Jack’s lungs, and then his eyes fell on Aster, the man mounted on the bike, a helmet covering his greying hair, and his hand extended out to the younger man.  A soft smile adorned his lips, not even trying to mask the sadness in his green eyes.  But Jack returned the smile, and accepted the offer.

First he tucked his bag between himself and Aster, making sure it was secure.  He slipped the offered helmet over his head, and buckled it securely before wrapping his arms around Aster’s waist.  Aster’s smile turned smug, before he leaned forward and started the engine.

The bike came to life between Jack’s legs, rumbling lightly, before they took off.

Jack rested his head on Aster’s back as the wind rushed past them.  He closed his eyes, feeling the man’s warmth against his face.  Aster’s heartbeat echoed throughout his entire body, and Jack breathed with it.  The wind whipped at his clothes that rippled behind him in the air.  The only sounds Jack heard was the rushing breeze, the motorcycle, and Aster.

The ride ended too quickly, and Aster had to nudge Jack to get off.

“Go on,” Aster muttered.  The gloom had left his eyes, and they sparkled now, bright green and full of life.  “You just took a nap, so you’d better pay attention, alright mate?”

Jack couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in his throat.  “Sure, I’ll try.”

“What time does the class end?”

“Um…” Jack checked his watch, “A little over an hour.”

“Alright, I’ll be back to pick you up.  See you later, Frostbite.”

“Wait, what?”

Before Jack could force an answer from the man, he’d sped off, leaving behind only an image of his smirk in the cloud of dust kicked up into the air.

* * *

  _“And did you pay attention to my brother’s class, Jack?”_

“A little.  It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“ _Really?_ ”

“Yeah, it was pretty interesting.”

_“Jack?”_

“Hmm?”

“ _…Nothing._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!
> 
> And, as per usual, I am really sorry for the wait. This chapter is kind of short too… I was going to actually write the class scene, just to give a better sense of Pitch, but I really just wanted to get this chapter done, because the next chapter is good. (Not to mention I somehow started… three? Other fic projects as well.) (Yeah, I plan ahead.)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! I also hope you all are having a good holiday!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack works late, somedays, and for some reason, Aster demands to pick him up most of the time. Not that he'd complain, of course; he loves the motorcycle. Yeah… that was it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's POV might be a little confusing; about mid-point, it shifts to Aster, and then is a weird fusion from there on out. Hope it's not too bad… (I was so tempted for them to just make out, but no, you get my awkward platonic does-he-like-me scenes instead.)

_“Jack!  Wait – Who are you?!”_

“Name’s Aster. Would you give me a hand?”

_“What happened?”_

“Sorry, I don’t know sign language, but Jack told me you could hear me, right?”

“ _Yes, but–“_

“The kid fell asleep on the ride here.  I didn’t want to wake him, but he passed out earlier.  He’d been fine all week, though.  Can I set him down somewhere?”

_“Yes, of course, on the couch.”_

“Ah, there we are. Jackie?  You want to wake up now?  …Jackie?”

_“Why did you bring him here?”_

“Jackie, would you wake up, Frostbite?  Ah, he told me to come here.  I think he had a nightmare, but I’m not sure.  But he fell asleep on the bike.  It’s just a nap, he’ll wake up – Woah!”

“Gah! Where – where am I? Aster?”

“It’s alright mate, I’m right here.  You’re alright.”

“Aster… Sandy? I – I’m sorry that I came here, instead of calling to the office.”

_“It’s fine, Jack.  Tell me, what happened?”_

“I – I’m not sure… when I was passed out…”

“Don’t worry, Frostbite, I’ll help.”

* * *

 

The ice looked like snow, belying the harsh reality of the white glass.  Cold rose from its surface in clouds of dim fog, lit only by the lights hung high above the rink.  The metal struts of the ceiling hung like metal branches, the lamps dangling down as electric icicles.

The sound of skates on the ice bit at Jack’s ears more violently than the chill in the air. He shook it off, focusing on the textbook in front of him.  His sneakers kicked impatiently at the bottom bar of his stool, his chin propped upon his stiff wrist.  The words on the page weren’t making any sense, and then they blurred together. A lock of white hair fell into his eyes.

Irritated, he brushed it away, and sat up to glance at the clock.  Another half-hour until closing time.  Aster had texted him, saying he’d pick him up. Jack fought the smile that tugged at his lips at the thought of the Australian, not wanting to linger on the distraction for too long.  Instead, he stared at the minute hand, until it moved a single digit.

Jack looked back down at the book, and groaned.

He’d been reading the same sentence for the past five minutes.

“Stupid trigonometry…” he muttered under his breath, as he tried to settle back in his seat, “what the hell is a radian anyway…?”

Suddenly a pair of skates slammed down on the table in front of him.  He jumped on his stool, grabbing the counter for support.

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

The woman reached out a hand, only halfway, as Jack steadied himself.  The young man only beamed up in response.

“I’m alright!” Jack said cheerfully.  “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” the woman said, “Could you put these skates up?  Sorry if I interrupted you…”

“No problem!” Jack replied.  “Don’t worry; I needed a break from… math.”  He mockingly glared down at the book, before scooping the skates up into his arms.

The woman laughed, her shoulders easing almost immediately.  “Thank you.”

Jack hummed in reply, and glanced down at the skates to check the size.  He made his way towards the back shelves, finding the correct space among the rentals.  The smell of the shoes was dull, overpowered by the disinfectant that he sprayed into each pair before he slid them up into their place.  As he returned them, he took out the woman’s shoes, a pair of brown flats.

Around him the shelves were dark, and everything was quiet.  But even in the seclusion, Jack heard the scrape of the blades on the ice in the distance.  The sound silenced his mind, but made his heart beat loudly in his chest.

He shook himself, and emerged back to the counter.  From somewhere else in the rec center, Manny had arrived, and was talking softly with the woman.  She was frowning slightly, but Manny smiled and gestured broadly to the rink.

Jack handed the shoes over, looking curiously over to Manny.  The woman gave him a grateful smile.

“Thank you!” she paused, and glanced at Manny, “Er… Mr. Moon here was just… um…”

“Mrs. Bennett’s son,” Manny interjected, “Jamie, still wants to practice his skating. He’s been learning how to skate so he can try out for the junior hockey team after the summer is over.”

“Oh,” Jack commented nonchalantly.  He shrugged, getting back up on his stool.

“I want you to teach him.”

Jack’s hand slipped on the counter, and he stumbled, nearly falling flat.

“W-what?” he exclaimed, shocked.  His ice blue eyes stared wildly at Manny’s face.

Mrs. Bennett rushed, “Oh, it was just a thought.  You really don’t have to–”

“No,” Manny broke in again, “Jack here is the finest skater I’ve ever seen.  He’s the best person for the job.”

Jack grit his teeth, and bit, “Manny.  Why not have an _actual instructor_ teach him?”

“Because none of them are on shift tonight, and Jamie wants to practice.”

“Really, you don’t have to do this – I have to pick up Sophie from her art… class… and it’s a school night, so he really shouldn’t stay any longer in the first place.”

“Nonsense!” Manny exclaimed, louder than was appropriate, “You go pick up Sophie; she’s just upstairs, you know where the classroom is, and Jack will – well, if he doesn’t teach, then he’ll at least make sure Jamie doesn’t hurt himself.  Ten minutes at most.”

“Well…” Mrs. Bennett barely graced Jack with a glance, before her gaze drifted over to the rink. “I guess… if it’s only ten minutes…”

Jack looked frantically between the two, feeling the ice sinking in his chest as they spoke. He balled his fists up at his sides, and turned to Manny, the last bit of hope flickering in his words.

“Manny, I–“

“Jack,” Manny cut him off with a stern glance, and the remaining flame was extinguished in the tightening of Jack’s fists.

The young man turned his gaze back down to his textbook.  He steeled himself, and then plastered a smile onto his face.

“It’s no problem, Mrs. Bennett,” Jack said to the woman, his forced cheer coming naturally. “Honest.”

The woman seemed to brighten immediately, and she returned Jack’s smile with genuine relief.

“Thank you so much!” she said, already backing up to the door, “I’ll be back as soon as possible, I promise!”

And with those final words, she left the rink.

Jack glared up at Manny, who pretended not to notice.  Sighing, Jack closed his textbook and made his way back to the shelves.

As he searched for a pair of skates to fit him, he heard Manny call back from the front.

“You know, if you chose an actual career path, you wouldn’t have to take some of these courses like… Oh, I didn’t realize that level of math existed.”

Jack groaned, “Please, Manny, I already get enough of that from Kozmotis.  I don’t need it from you too.”

“I was only reminding you.”

The skates were old, worn, and probably uncomfortable.  They probably smelled something terrible as well, but Jack didn’t dare attempt to find out, turning his nose up and away from the boots.  He padded back to the front, his socks padding softly on the floor.

“See, you weren’t wearing your shoes anyway.  You were hoping for this.”

He ignored the comment, only shooting Manny a glare, before he sat on the stool and brought up his foot.  He began to lace on the skates, taking the cracking leather in his hands delicately.

“What career should I go for?” Jack asked spitefully, focusing on his skates.

Manny gave it thought for a moment, before he answered, “Something with kids.  You’ve always been good with them.  You’d always have a job here, of course.  But I still believe you need an education.”

“More than high school?”

“Certainly,” said Manny. “I can’t let you teach the children anything if you don’t have a license.  And I don’t intend for you to remain behind that counter the rest of your life.”

“The rest of my life…” Jack muttered under his breath.

A month ago, Jack would have been content to stay with North the rest of his life, helping in the shop and overall feeling sorry for himself.  Avoiding what needed to be done.  But then North had left.  And now…

He went out with Tooth as often as possible, but she’d be leaving at the end of the semester. No – Now he lived with Aster. Across the street, Katherine and Kailash made him lunch at least once a week.  Ombric recommended books that he’d never read, and William dragged him into adventures with knights and Fearlings and god knows what else lived in that boy’s imagination.

And Aster…

For the rest of his life he could be content.  But with everything changing so rapidly now, he doubted it would last.

“Manny,” Jack began as he pulled his laces tight, “I don’t want to do this.”

“Nonsense!” Manny exclaimed.  “Come; I’ll add it to your paycheck.”

“No, Manny…” Jack took a breath, and restarted, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Manny simply beckoned for Jack to come over the counter.  With a sigh, the young man complied, swinging his feet up over the booth and wincing when the metal skates scraped on the surface.  Manny took his hand, and hauled him over.

Immediately, he swung an arm over Jack’s shoulder as the boy struggled to stand on his skates.

“You have to get back on the ice sometime, Jack.  Why not now?”

“Because Sandy said–”

“What did Sandy say?”

With a pause, Jack felt his shoulders slump.  “Nothing.”

“Was that a joke?”

“No!” Jack cried, shoving Manny in annoyance.  “That’s not funny!”

Manny only chuckled lightly, causing Jack’s frown to deepen.  He let his shoulders slump again in a pout, and they reached the edge of the rink.

Deliberately, Manny pushed open the gate.

“Go on,” he ordered softly, gesturing to the ice.

Jack only shuffled awkwardly on his feet.  He glanced at the ice, before he looked back up at the large man, panic stricken in his features. His chest burned with the thought of the ice, only to sink further as he saw Manny’s stern determination.

“Manny,” he tried once more, desperate, “You don’t understand.  I _can’t_ do this. You weren’t there for those three years; you don’t know what I’m like, what _this…_ ” Weakly, he referenced the rink.

He started when Manny’s hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Jack.  But I’m here now, and I want to help you.  And whether you believe me or not – this _will_ help you.”

“But Manny–”

Jack’s rebuttal was cut off by the sound of a small cry out on the rink, accompanied by the thunk of a body on ice.

All doubts about the ice left Jack’s mind immediately, and he turned his alarmed gaze out to the rink. In the center of the ice, he saw young Jamie Bennett sprawled across the glass.  The boy wasn’t moving.

“Jamie!” Jack cried, and he brushed Manny’s hand away.

He set his foot onto the ice.

By the time he’d glided out to Jamie’s still form, it was too late to turn back. He knelt down next to the boy, and shook him gently.

“Jamie,” he said as calmly as possible, “Jamie, are you alright?”

The boy’s body shook lightly, and at first Jack thought he was shivering.  But then the short bursts of laughter left the child’s lips, and brown eyes opened to stare gleefully at Jack’s worried expression.

“Oops,” the boy chuckled, pushing himself up, “I slipped.”

Jack released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  Then he narrowed his eyes, and shoved the boy.

“What were you thinking? You scared me, kid!”

Jamie only laughed harder when he slid backwards on the ice, and replied, “I was trying to go faster! Did you know that the fastest speed ever recorded on ice was fifty-two miles per hour?  That’s amazing!”

Jack met the kid’s fact with a confused look, and said, “Yeah, that’s pretty cool.” He took a moment to look Jamie over again, and once he was satisfied there were no injuries, he asked, “Do you want to skate fast?”

“Yes!” Jamie exclaimed quickly, “The best skaters are the fastest!”

Just then, Jamie slipped again, plopping back down onto the ice.  Jack snickered, and helped the boy back up.

“Only if they can keep their balance there, kiddo.  You want to join the hockey team?”

Jamie pouted at falling again, and said, “Yeah, but I’m not that good…”

The boy’s lost expression made something resonate in Jack’s chest, and he raised a hand to Jamie’s chest.

“Hey,” he chastised, “You’re on the ice, aren’t you?  That’s the first step.”  Jamie shrugged, but glanced up at Jack through his bangs, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. Jack smiled, and continued, “How about I help you practice?”

At those words, Jamie’s half-hearted mood brightened, and he was beaming up at Jack.

“Yes, please!”

Jack laughed at the boy’s sudden change.  “Alright,” he said, and he took Jamie’s hands in his own.

Jamie skated with a clumsy walk, his skates digging down into the ice with a loud scratch for every step.  The ice chipped off in small sprays of crystal.  But the boy managed to stand, as Jack led him across the ice.

"Faster," Jack said, a laugh painting his words at Jamie's face, rend and flushed and glaring at Jack in shock.  "Come on, you can do it!  Faster!"

Jack pulled, skating backwards on the ice.  At first Jamie called out, but then his fear melted away.  Laughter travelled across the rink, filling the lonely steel rafters with a missing light.  And as the two below skated around the ice, the empty spaces all whispered to each other, "Do you feel that?  I haven't felt that feeling for more than three years.  He's back. He's back.  He's back!"

“Faster, Jamie!”

Faster, faster – All Jack wanted was to glide faster, his eyes focused on the boy before him. The rink began to blur, the whispers reaching a crescendo of excitement.  And then, the ice fell out from beneath them.

“Jack!” Jamie shouted, as they thumped down roughly on the ice.

A groan left Jack’s throat from the small body that fell on top of his.  But then a laugh built in his chest, bursting like a bubble at his lips.  Jamie caught it, and soon they were a rolling mess on the ice.  Jamie slid off of Jack, breaths heavy, and they stared up at the silent rafters. Their voices filled the rink, echoing throughout the room.

“Jamie! Jamie, it’s time to go!”

The boy sat up at the sound of his mother’s voice, his laughter left in a breath.

“Coming!” He looked back to Jack, and said, “Thanks.  Can you teach me again?”

Jack still lay on the ice, breathless.  Eyes wide, he nodded. “Of course,” he answered. “Definitely.”

“Awesome!”

He scrambled to his feet, and began to skate to the edge of the rink.

“Jamie!” Jack called after him.  “Leave the skates at the counter, alright?”

“Okay!”

Jack heard the skates leave the ice when Jamie stepped off, and then the muttered words of the boy’s mother.

“Did you say thank you?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Good,” she said, and then raised her voice, “Thank you so much, Jack!  Have a good night!”

Jack only raised a hand in farewell, and remained flat on the ice.

The metal ceiling above him held shadows behind the rafters.  The lights of the rink glared down, staining Jack’s vision. He listened softly for the receding footsteps of the Bennett’s.  The moment he heard them fade away, he released a breath of relief.

Carefully, he picked himself up.  His skates came down firmly on the ice, and he stared around himself.  The white surface looked almost like snow, and the lights reflected off of the windows closing in the rink.  They looked back at him like mirrors.

Jack stared at his reflection, taking in his appearance.  The ratty, beat-up rentals on his feet poised his stance, and he held his arms out at his sides to balance.    His white hair fell across his eyes, and he looked down at himself in his blue jacket and brown denim.  The cloth clung to him in a cold sweat.

The image looked almost elegant, betraying his pounding heart.  He met his eyes in the mirrors, and took in the wide, scared look that they held.  His gaze hardened, and he nodded.

Hands shaking, he clenched his fists, and skated to the center of the rink.

| - | - | - | - |

Aster stalked down the halls of the rec center, grumbling about the traffic and the cold breeze outside that had no business being present this late in June. He pulled his coat tighter around himself.  Jack made fun of the leather jacket whenever he wore it, because he only wore it when he rode his motorcycle, and Jack had an odd sense of humor.

A small smile pulled at the corners of Aster’s mouth.  In the past months with Jack, something had changed.  His apartment seemed fuller, obviously.  But if Jack hadn’t been there, it would have felt… wrong, somehow. And Aster didn’t want to analyze it, a little scared of it to be honest.  Instead, he focused on the present, and how he was affected.  He smiled more now, a fact that Katherine pointed out incessantly.

She offered lunch almost every day.  Not that that was too different, but now she pushed for Aster to come.  If he didn’t, she sent Kailash across the road to bring him. Curse the little sheila; he could never say no to her.

Jack had changed everything.  And yet in the back of Aster’s mind, something still bothered him.  The smile on his lips faded, as he thought of the unpacked box that still sat in the corner of Jack’s room.  The younger man had shoved it away after the anniversary of his mother’s funeral.  Aster wanted so much to ask, and he had so many burning questions about her.

He knew it had something to do with the white ice skates, all beat up and broken underneath the picture frame.  It had something to do with ice, and why Jack was always reluctant to come to work at the rink.

Which is why, when Aster entered the open room and saw Jack standing in the middle of the ice, he felt more than a small twinge of panic.  He felt a damn avalanche.

“Ja–”

“Quiet!” hissed Manny, shooting out from beside the door, and clamping a hand over Aster’s mouth.

“Mmph!”

“I said quiet! Don’t make a sound!”

Aster wrenched the man’s hands off of him, stepping away.  “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing there, you drongo?” he whispered heatedly.

Manny replied evenly, “What are you doing here, Aster?  The center’s closed.”

“I’m here to pick up Jack! I was gonna take him out to di–” Aster shut himself up then, his face screwing into a stiff frown.

For a moment, Manny didn’t speak.  Then, his face broke out into a smirk.  “You like him.”

“Shut it. You’re worse than Katherine,” Aster sniffed, looking back out to the ice.

“I seriously doubt that,” Manny said, laughter lining his quiet words.

“Shut. It.”

“I’m serious,” Manny suddenly dropped his voice even softer.  “North will say the same.  Don’t hurt him.”

Aster groaned, but Manny cut him off with a glare.  So instead, Aster countered, “Then what do you think you’re doing, letting him out on the ice?”

Manny blinked, taken aback.  “You know?” he whispered, eyes wide.

For a moment, Aster considered bluffing.  But at the horrified tone of Manny’s voice, all his annoyance fell.  “No,” he growled lowly, caution on edge.  “I just know it has something to do with it. How do you know?”

When Manny answered, his words were solemn, and his eyes glimmered with the memory. “I was there.”

Aster’s fists tightened at his sides, and his anger flared once again.  Furrowing his brows, he tried to look intimidating, and hissed, “Then why are you letting him out there?  Are you trying to send him into a bloody panic attack?”

Manny shook his head, snapping out of his trance.  “No,” he replied, “never.”  He took Aster by the shoulder, and steered him towards the rink.  “Just watch.”

Aster did.

Jack exhaled, letting the tension drain from his shoulders as he stood on the ice. His back curved in, taking his balance forward as he extended his arms.  He held his pose, imagining the cold air around him carrying him on the breath of a ghost of three years.  Facing the white mirrors surrounding him, he lifted up onto his toes, poised for his beginning.

The opening strains sounded in his mind, a single violin washing over the ice in a somber whine. The note was drawn out as he brought his hands together, arching for the rafters high above. With a single push of his skates, he began.

His blades took him across the ice, slow and graceful in every movement.  He weaved a small circuit around the rink, letting the music flow through his body.  His legs pumped beneath him, carrying his weight like he was nothing.

He flew, and the ice felt it.

As the music rose in his mind, he felt the cold sweep into the dance.  His arms embraced the sensation and drew an image in the air. He painted a picture of magic, as elegant as the fluid motions his body remembered that his mind had somehow forgotten.

Aster sucked in a sharp breath at the sight.  He watched as Jack skated backwards, gliding over the surface as if the ground didn’t even exist. With an ethereal grace, the boy caught his balance, picking up speed as he weaved a story with his movements.

“Beautiful,” Aster breathed, utterly transfixed.

But Manny was frozen, rooted to the spot as he stared at the boy.  “Do you hear that?” he asked, voice so quiet it barely passed for a whisper.

Aster didn’t spare the man a glance, only replying, “Hear what?”

“The music.”

The sound filled the empty silence, bringing the rafters back to life.  Their excited whispers echoed with the harmonious scrape of Jack’s skates on the ice.  They heard the orchestra that sped with Jack along the ice, and their very foundation shook with it.

Jack closed his eyes, breathing in heavily as he let his feet carry him, and listened. The music wrapped around his body, encasing him in the bittersweet memories of a memory that played in his mind like an old theater show.  It held him close and caressed his form, and it pulled him into his conviction.

He opened his eyes, and saw himself in the mirrors.  The rink was empty, and he was a lone figure atop the ice, isolated against the white. Jack felt his bones shudder, and he steeled himself, before sweeping across the arena.

Manny drew in a sharp breath.  “No.”

Aster pulled his eyes away from the sight of the boy who danced like a spirit, only possible by the horror that painted Manny’s voice.  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“No,” Manny murmured, before he moved.  “Jack, don’t!”

The boy couldn’t hear it; a spike shot in the music, arcing like electricity between the rafters that hung above him.  Jack shifted his balance, as the cacophony of noise filled his ears.  He swung his leg back, and leapt.

Time slowed. The rafters held their breath, waiting for the world to fall.  Jack felt the gravity pulling at his skin, but he kept his eyes open as the world spun around him.  The mirrors became a blur, and in them Jack saw only the ice.  The violin strings broke, snapping with the force of a brigade of gunfire. The entire symphony fell apart, and like an explosion, the water opened up beneath him, and Jack’s vision went black.

Aster’s heart stopped when he saw Jack fly into the air, yet there was no magnificence in it. Instead, it ended in the crashing of his lungs when his breathing died, and the loud smack of Jack’s body hitting the ice.

“JACK!” he shouted, rushing past Manny and shoving the man out of the way.

He reached the edge of the rink, not even thinking before he clamored onto the ice. Sliding on his feet, he scrambled to the young man’s prone form.  His knees gave out beneath him, and he collapsed by Jack’s side.

Aster wanted to reach out immediately, but held himself back, hands hovering just over Jack’s body. The man’s face was against the ice, deathly pale and tight.  Jack’s jaw locked, as shudders ran through his entire body, leaving him gaunt and breathless.

Terror ran through Aster’s veins at the sight, hearing the quick breaths that Jack took. He recognized the sight, was all too familiar with it from the week prior and didn’t that just send a rushing ache through his gut as he thought of his – no, just Jack, in so much tormented agony. He took in the gaunt expression, and ever so carefully, hands trembling, he leaned forward, his breath catching on his lips.

Jack’s eyes shot open the moment Aster’s hands touched his hoodie, and he gasped a great gulp of air, his entire body seizing up on the ice.

“Jack!” Aster cried, automatically gathering Jack in his arms.

But the boy protested, struggling, and he shoved away, scrambling back on the ice. His chest heaved, the fabric of his jacket stretching over his ribs, and with bloodshot eyes he stared at Aster.

Panic glistened in his reddened eyes, tears threatening to spill over.  The stricken look left his gaze as he collected himself, and yet his frantic gasps for air betrayed the broken pain that plagued him.

“A-Aster?” he choked out, finally meeting the man’s gaze.

In his chest his heart pounded hard and hollow, like a broken typewriter, each line of ink punctuated by a high breath.  He stared with bleary vision at the man kneeling on the ice before him, and his fists tightened. He shook his head and looked away, his limbs shaking against the cold, both inside and out.

Something inside Aster clenched, and he reached for the boy.

“Jackie, I…” he paused, hovering again.  “Can – Can I…?”

Jack’s eyes snapped up to meet Aster’s.  Broken worry reflected back at him in the man’s emerald gaze, and for a moment Jack wasn’t sure. He wanted… He wanted to stand up, and walk away, so that he didn’t have to look at Aster.  But he only nodded, and when the man’s arms enveloped him, warm and secure and everything that the ice beneath him wasn’t, he buried his face in the crook of his neck.  It worked.

Not having to see the sorrow in Aster’s eyes was a relief, because something about it hurt more than it should.  Jack breathed in the leather smell of Aster’s jacket, coupled with the sharp smell of the man’s cologne and the scent underneath that was warm and earthy and old like the empty cans of paint the Aster kept in his studio because he was too lazy to be bothered to get rid of them.  It smelled like Aster, and it sent a sob bubbling up in Jack’s chest.

“Shh,” Aster cooed, clutching the boy closer as he felt the cry against his shoulder. He carded his fingers through Jack’s hair as his hard gaze stared down at the ice.  “It’s alright, Frostbite.  I’m here.”  He turned his face, to press his nose into Jack’s temple, breathing in.

The man’s chest expanded beneath him, pressing against Jack firmly.  He gasped, “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.  I just… I’m sor–”

Aster only hummed again, a deep rumble passing through his entire frame.  He wanted to pull Jack closer again, to tell him that he had nothing to be sorry for, but he couldn’t do either of those things, so he only repeated, “It’s alright, Jack.  It’s alright.”

Jack sobbed again, a flash of fear in his voice this time.  “Th-the ice,” he murmured, trying to calm himself, “it – it broke again. I fell through. It – it was so dark.” The last words seemed to cut at his throat, quiet and hesitant.

Aster released Jack, holding him by the shoulders.  “Hey,” he said, when Jack let his arms drop too quickly.  “Hey, Jackie.  Look at me, mate.”  He placed his fingers beneath Jack’s chin, and looked the young man right in the eye. “You’re safe, I promise you. Do you trust me?”

Jack nodded, speechless.

“Come on,” Aster said, letting his hand drop.  “Let’s get you off of the ice.”

Jack nodded again, and they made to stand up.  The younger man rested his weight against Aster, and they made their way to the edge of the rink. Aster nearly slipped once, but caught his balance before Jack could fall.  Of course he did, being the one wearing shoes.

Manny was waiting for them, and he had the nerve to look angry.

“What were you thinking, Jack?” he exclaimed.

“It – a triple… a triple axel…”

The answer seemed to make Manny even angrier, and he fumed, “A triple axel?  Three years without so much as touching the ice, and the first thing you try is a triple axel?  Are you insane?  What the hell is wrong with you?”

The shouting stunned Jack into silence, and the boy only stared, stricken with tearstains on his cheeks.

But it only threw Aster into a rage.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you, you goddamn wanker?  You’re gonna bloody let him onto the ice, and you’re not even going coach him or tell him what to practice and you’re just gonna stand there while he’s bloody unconscious on the ground, god knows if he’s breathing or not – Christ, he could’ve died!  You’re just goddamn lucky he’s not hurt, you goddamn–”

“Aster,” Jack muttered, clutching at the man’s jacket.  “Aster, stop.”

He did, looking over at the younger man, still seething.  But the boy only let go, and he hobbled over to the benches in his skates, before sitting down to take them off.  After a moment, Aster followed.

Jack didn’t look up when he said, “We need to go to Sandy’s.”

“Sandy’s?” Aster asked, sitting down.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “He won’t be at the office, but you have the address I gave you, right?  We’ll just go there.”

Aster nodded, before he paused.  “Wait, you want me to come with you?”

Jack glanced up, a smirk playing at his lips.  His eyes were dry now, not a hint of his tears in them, if not for the wet tracks on his cheeks.  It made Aster nervous.

“Well, you are my ride. I mean…” the boy looked down at the skates, tugging them off.  He rubbed his arm across his face, and said, “Would you… come with me? Please?”

“Of course, Jackie. Anything you want.”

Jack scoffed, “Don’t go all overprotective on me now.  It was just a little slip up.  Completely my fault.”  A hard tone covered his words as he spoke, and he stood, skates in hand.

Aster followed him to the back counter, and Manny hung behind them, an odd look on his face.

The Australian sputtered, “A – a little – I’m not overprotective!”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Jack teased, the false cheerfulness laid on thick.

“Jack–“

“Why’re you wearing cologne?” Jack called from the back of the shelves, suddenly changing the subject. “Were you planning on going somewhere special?”

Manny let out a choked kind of sound.  Aster shot him a glare, before he folded his arms across chest.  “What’re you talking about?”

Jack emerged from the back, and slipped on his sneakers.  “Cologne. You don’t wear cologne. And now you’re wearing a lot.” Jack sniffed, and then wrinkled his nose.  “Yeah, you’re wearing way too much.  Who’re you trying to impress, Kangaroo?”

Aster clenched his jaw, and then let his arms drop.  Aw, what the hell – “You,” he stated bluntly.

Jack froze, staring at Aster from across the counter.  When he said nothing, Aster clarified, “I was going to take you to dinner. No reason.  But now we’re going to Sandy’s, so come on, then.”

Jack stammered, “What?”

Aster only rolled his eyes, trying to match Jack’s earlier mask, despite the fact that he could feel his heart trying to burst out of his chest.

“We’re going to Sandy’s,” he repeated.  “Come on.” He reached over the counter and grabbed the strap of Jack’s bag.

He turned around before Jack could reply, and shoved past Manny on his way out of the rink. He ignored Jack’s protests all the way down to the entrance of the rec center, as Jack followed his through the halls.

“Aster!” Jack cried when they’d finally gotten to the road.  “Give me my bag.”

Aster only tossed it over, before he stalked to his bike.  He swung a leg over the vehicle and tugged on a helmet, then silently held the other out to Jack.

The boy didn’t take it. Instead, he clutched his bag to his chest, blue eyes wide in the early evening.  The streetlight next to the road flickered on, washing his white hair in an orange glow.

He swallowed, and then asked quietly, “Aster, are you mad at me?”

The Australian shoved up his visor and nearly snapped his neck to stare at the younger man. “No, Jackie,” he replied. “I’m mad at Manny for being a bloody wanker.”

“But are you mad at me?”

For a moment, Aster was silent.  Then, he released a sigh, and dismounted from the bike.  He approached the younger man, and held his eyes to meet those worried, scared blue ones the entire time.

“I’m not mad at you, Jack,” he murmured, far closer to the boy than he should have been. “I swear I’m not mad at you. I honestly don’t think I could be at this point.”

“That’s a lie,” Jack said, a weak smirk pulling at his lips.  But it fell away quickly as he looked up at the man.

“I’m serious, Jack. I get mad at what you do – what you can do,” Aster lifted his arms uselessly, “but I can never get mad at you.”

Jack held Aster’s gaze for another moment, before he huffed and looked away. A light chuckle escaped his lips, a genuine one, and Aster’s heart pounded again.

“You’re really weird, Bunny” –Aster scowled at the nickname, so much worse than ‘Kangaroo’– “You still want to take me out to dinner?”

Aster blinked. “What?”

“After Sandy’s,” Jack clarified.  “I’m hungry enough to go now, but after last week, Sandy wanted me to come to him every time I had…” he trailed off, suddenly quiet again.

Aster only nodded, and replied, “Sure thing, mate.  Then let’s get Sandy out of the way, right?”

Jack smiled. “Yeah.”

They both mounted the bike, and Aster started up the engine.  As they rumbled down the street away from the rec center, Jack relaxed against Aster’s back, and his heartbeat echoed gently with the older man’s.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now, Jackie,” Aster called over his shoulder.

“’M not,” Jack shouted back.

But as they turned out of the city’s traffic down into Sandy’s neighborhood, Aster felt the man slump against him.  He slowed down when he felt Jack’s grip around his waist loosen, a smile playing on his lips.  Drifting slowly along the road, he glanced over his shoulder, and continued onwards.

* * *

 

_“Jack?”_

“Frostbite? You alright?”

“…I’m sorry I fell asleep on you, Aster…”

“It’s fine. Sandy?  We free to go?”

_“Jack.  You say this is the only time this week?”_

“Yeah. I haven’t had any nightmares since the anniversary either.”

_“Do you know why?”_

“…”

_“…I see.”_

“Jack? What’s he saying? Sorry, Sandy, what’d you say?”

“Nothing, Aster. We can go though, right, Sandy?”

_“Very well.”_

“Thanks. Sorry again for bothering you out of the office.”

_“No, I’m glad you came.”_

“Right. Thanks.  Ready, Aster?”

“Jackie, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Aster. Except that you promised me dinner, remember?”

“…Fine, you larrikin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize so much for the long wait. I had a little breakdown about my writing, and I avoided this like the plague. But now I feel more comfortable with it, and my writing style. I hasn't changed too much, but I've been trying to improve my detail writing (as I hope you could tell by the skating sequence I wrote…).
> 
> Basically the rest of this fic will attempt to be a little more mature, characterization-wise. Actually, the next chapter is fairly mature (but no smut, because I don't go there). But I'm sure you'll all be happy either way, or I hope so. Also: Aster's point of view now, right? Hah? He'll be dropping in occasionally, but I'll try to make it clear when he is. (Hint: only when he visits Sandy.)
> 
> Anyway, I'm hoping my writing will be faster in the coming months. I'm participating in Camp NaNoWriMo (got my cabin and everything!) in two days, but I'll have a lot of time to accomplish other writing, I hope. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next one's actually a really long one (it'll be around 20,000 words, I'm expecting). Literally, it's going to be a marathon, so I hope you'll enjoy it! (And not get too angry if it takes a while. I just really don't want to divide it up because of the nature of that chapter. It's not really the climax, but a bunch of shit goes down, so…)
> 
> On another note: I WAS SO TEMPTED TO ABANDON MY PLANNED PLOT AND JUST HAVE THEM MAKE OUT UNDERNEATH THE STREETLIGHT AND BAM! FANFIC DONE BUT NO THAT LEAVES TOO MUCH UNRESOLVED AND BESIDES THAT'S CRAPPY ROMANTIC DEVELOPMENT SO GUESS WHAT I HAVE SELF CONTROL AND YOU GET ABOUT THREE MORE CHAPTERS, ONE OF WHICH IS REALLY _REALLY_ LONG


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